


The Entertainer

by plaktow



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dominance, Enterprise, M/M, Mirror Universe, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Science Fiction, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaktow/pseuds/plaktow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written originally for Mirrorverse Big Bang 2014. Jim and Spock are on a routine mission, when items start to disappear. While Jim is busy planning battle tactics Spock has his own plans, which he tries desperately to keep secret.</p><p>"Art" related to the story available on Deviantart <a href="http://fav.me/d7zmr2m">here</a> and <a href="http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/263/d/c/pleasing_the_captain_by_plaktow-d7zmucm.jpg">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James T. Kirk, the proud Captain of the ISS Enterprise, stormed through the seemingly endless corridors of his ship. The corners of his mouth were twitching, his eyes were as cold as dry ice, his uniform shone in the bright lights and his hobnailed boots made the floors sing his fury as he made his way forward ignoring every oncoming crewman. When he finally stopped before a red door it took a moment for the echoes of his stomping to die down before the corridor grew silent. The scanner above the door recognized the Captain, whose credentials were checked against the access rights database on the main computer. No door on this vessel was locked from Kirk, although not many people knew it. The door opened within seconds, but already Kirk had begun to tap his foot impatiently.   
  
As Kirk stepped inside to the Commander's rooms Spock raised his gaze from the screen. His eyes were gray as a cloudy sky, as if he had been staring at the screen intently for a long while. Spock's fingers were steepled before his stern face, mimicking the posture of the character portrayed on the screen. Jim's flaming eyes darted between Spock and the screen comparing the characters. Although the poses were strikingly alike, that was where the similarities ended. Spock had his trimmed goatee and was dressed in his uniform, as usual; the hollow-cheeked man on the screen had no beard, but an old-fashioned, high-collared white shirt and a smart black suit.   
  
“Having fun?'” Kirk asked, his voice as sharp as a blade pressed against a major artery. It was a tone most people heard only once in their lives, usually at the very end of the said life. But Spock, who had listened to the same tone for some years, did not even flinch. He held the Captain's gaze.  
  
“Perhaps you find  _this_  -” Jim nodded at the screen, “ -more important than your duties aboard this vessel, Mr. Spock?”   
  
“I am not on duty this shift, Captain. I shall resume my position on the Bridge in exactly 4 hours 27 minutes.”  
  
“Your duty is to me, Mr. Spock. When I call you, you will answer. I called. You did not answer.”  
  
Spock made no reply. His silence seemed only to frustrate Kirk, whose eyes flashed dangerously. It was impossible to say whether it was a sign of anger or amusement at the gall of his First officer.   
  
“You serve me”, Kirk stated. “Therefore you answer to me and to me alone. But if you wish, that can be changed. There are positions available on other vessels, and many outside the Imperial Fleet. Maybe you'd prefer a job as a private eye?”  Again Kirk nodded at the screen. The identity of the character on Spock's screen had not escaped Jim. He was familiar with the fictional Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and considered him a sexless and arrogant jerk. The paused video still showed the detective sitting before a fireplace with his eyes closed, his mouth a tight line and his ears pricked as he listened to the story of some unfortunate victim of a crime.   
  
”I believe the title is consulting detective,” Spock corrected before commanding the computer to turn off the screen. The view to 221B Baker Street vanished as the screen turned blank. “I have not given you a reason to doubt my loyalty. I serve you as long as you serve the Empire.”   
  
Kirk was not in the mood for further discussions about the nature of loyalty.  He tossed a memory card on Spock's desk.  
  
“Until I say otherwise you're the Science officer aboard this vessel, and I need your opinion on some scanner readings. Check this  data, analyze it and present your conclusions at the beginning of your shift, Sherlock.”   
  
Spock ignored the chip and allowed his eyebrow to rise a fraction of an inch as he mused about the contradiction that interested him so. “Mr. Holmes is indeed a most intriguing character. I find it fascinating that an erratic and emotional race would admire such a logical and reasonable character.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, it doesn't surprise me that you would identify with an asexual genius with a code of conduct where his cock should be.”  
  
Spock's eyebrows rose considerably as his dark eyes widened. “Thank you!” he said in what for a Vulcan was a most grateful tone.   
  
Jim huffed. Despite the sky-high IQ, Spock had never seemed to understand irony. He poked the memory disk as a reminder about the scan results, made a sharp Imperial salute and left the small cabin without further comments. His steps, now considerably lighter than when he had arrived, faded quickly away.   
  
In his regained solitude Spock flicked the screen back on and stared at the gaunt figure for a while. He altered his own posture to fit that of Mr. Holmes, steepled his fingers and leaned back on his chair.  
  
“Computer, resume playback.”  
  
***  
  
When the next shift began Jim found the required results stored on the ship's computer. He called the results up on is PADD and skimmed through the text and graphs while the usual operations of the Bridge were carried on around him.   
  
 _The data (summarized in attachment 1) shows the 8pc spherical dot scan results from an area around the center point 7.9876a; 145.235b in the Alpha quadrant. The results consist of 3 million measurements  randomly taken from the target area. 97.5 % of the measurements are statistically significant, which suggests the scanner is working adequately.  Improvements are still recommended to maintain full scan capacity._  
  
Jim made a face and scrolled downwards, passing several pages of uninteresting technical jargon until he finally found the conclusions.   
  
 _In conclusion, with 94 % accuracy the objects observed in the scans are either heavy battleships or cruisers.   Cross-referencing found no exact match to the scanner pattern. Insufficient data for full recognition of the vessels. A more reliable close-range scan must be performed. Until then it is recommended to consider the vessels hostile._  
  
Jim smiled thinly. The report had not indicated the direction or speed of the possible vessels, but he assumed that further scans had already been made and were being analyzed. He tapped his PADD with the conductive pen and browsed through the latest scan reports. Just as he had suspected: a report linked to the one he had just read had been uploaded mere minutes ago. Jim opened the file with a poke of the pen and read on.  
  
 _The mid-range conical dot scan results dated 3505.7 indicate seven cruisers or battleships of unknown class. There is insufficient data to calculate their point of destination at this time. Possible alignment vectors for confronting the vessels are presented in attachment 3B. Current distance from the nearest ship is 7.5 parsecs. Confrontation possible within sixteen days given the present velocities._  
  
Jim's eyes began to shine as he read on. The vectors provided called to him, and he could already feel the Enterprise gliding soundlessly through space and see himself counting his loot after ransacking and burning the armed convoy. Sixteen days would be more than enough to plan an attack – unless, of course, the vessels were part of the Terran Empire. In that case he would need to plan more. It would not do to leave evidence of pillaging the property of the Empire, but it also would not do to leave seven fully armed ships just flying there, all on their own, with who knows how many priceless artifacts and usable females on board.   
  
A voluptuous, young yeoman had brought a steaming plate of soup  next to the Captain's seat while Jim had focused on the report. Jim lowered his PADD and sniffed at the soup. It smelled delicious and looked very tempting. Jim felt his mouth water and his stomach rumble, both sure signs of hunger – and of certain heat-resistant pheromones. Without anyone noticing Jim fished a small pouch from his pocket, opened it and sprayed white, odorless powder on the soup.   
  
“Sir, don't you think she's a bit too young to try anything as boring as lures?” Uhura asked suddenly. Jim had not noticed the woman sneaking behind his seat, but now that he did, he inhaled deeply and enjoyed the tantalizing scent of Uhura's perfume. The smile never left his lips.  
  
“Lures, lieutenant?”  
  
“Lure pheromones. Isn't that what you tried to detect with that chemical agent you just used?”  
  
Jim laughed. “Sweetie, I like the way you think. Lure pheromones, eh? Never heard of them. This chemical agent, also known as common salt, only lures some taste into this replicator's piss.” From the corner of his eye Jim watched the surface of the soup. It wasn't steaming, bubbling or turning into any strange color. The meal was safe.  
  
“Unless you're here to please me, I suppose you had something to report,” he suggested pointedly after swallowing a few spoonfuls of the soup. It was excellent, unless you counted the slightly bitter taste from the detector powder.  
  
Uhura heard the edge in Jim's voice and stood in attention. “Yes, Sir. We received communications from the Head of Imperial Acquisitions. You are to contact him within 2 standard hours on a secure connection.”  
  
“Or what?” Jim asked between spoonfuls.   
  
“Or he will, and I quote, pull that insane sailor back to Earth and nail his horny head to the floor.”  
  
The Bridge crew chuckled. They were all familiar with the Head of Acquisitions: Sameek Tzu, an economist-turned-general, who decided what the Empire wanted and found the means to get it. On his orders the crew had hunted down, immobilized, boarded and claimed several vessels belonging to space-faring civilizations all around the quadrant. They were all also all familiar with the temper of the Head. If he said he'd nail the Captain's head to the floor he most likely would do just that, and laugh away while he hammered.   
  
One stern look from the Captain was enough to silence the Bridge again and make Uhura hurry back to her station with the golden sash on her slim waist flapping after her. Kirk had been eyeing at the agonizer on Uhura's belt, but suddenly a new idea formed in his twisted mind. Congratulating himself on his deviousness Kirk got up and stepped lightly to the helm console, while behind him the obedient yeoman returned to pick up the dirty dishes.   
  
Mr. Sulu was currently on helm duty. His uniform was spotless, his posture rigid and his eyes as sharp as his mind. Sulu was an excellent helmsman, and while James Kirk was known for his ingenious punishments, he was also known for rewarding those who earned it. Jim placed a hand on Sulu's shoulder.  
  
“Mr. Sulu, I believe you were promised a reward for the exceptional skill you presented during the raid on Telakar Station,” Jim said quietly. Sulu did not respond, only turned his head and looked at the Captain quizzically. Jim liked Sulu's quiet, professional style.  
  
“Lt. Uhura could use a refresher course on how to behave on the Bridge. See to it that she learns some manners.”  
  
Sulu's scarred face melted to a wolfish grin. He had been circling Uhura for a long time, Jim knew, but the cocky woman had never surrendered. Although maneuvering around the debris of the Telakar Station several months ago had been a pain in the backside for Sulu,  Jim estimated the reward he was now giving should be more than enough to buy Sulu's loyalty for the coming battles. Uhura, on the other hand, would never complain about the matter. She was too proud to admit she was being used like a toy.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Sulu grinned. “Will you want a report on her progress?”   
  
Hikaru Sulu had made that question before, some months ago, concerning a young female cadet. The report Jim had received had been in video format and most entertaining, and later on had fetched a nice price from the girl herself. Jim had copies, of course. But Uhura, a beauty though she was, wasn't to Jim's taste, so he shook his head.   
  
“Don't be too harsh on her. She might be useful soon,” Jim said, his mind back on the business of the unrecognized battleships. He would need his communications officer then. He stepped back to the raised platform in the middle of the Bridge and called Spock to him. He could have walked two, three steps to the science station, but he preferred to see the Vulcan come when called. It was always such a pleasure to watch people obey him!  
  
After listening to Spock's short summary on the battleships Jim left the con to the Vulcan and took the turbolift to the ready room.  He made a secure connection to the Empire Headquarters, and had to almost beg before Tzu's idiotic secretary patched him through to the Head of the Acquisitions. It took several minutes before Tzu saw it fit to answer. His bald, ugly head replaced the Empire's sword-and-Earth logo on the communications console.  
  
“Sir Tzu, thank you for granting me your time,” Jim said sweetly before Tzu had a chance to speak. “How may I be of assistance to the Empire?”  
  
Tzu ignored the pleasantries. “Your communications officer ... informed me you are near …. the Nebula …. Z-45. Is this correct?”  
  
Jim gritted his teeth. Tzu's slow, drawling speech was infuriating him, but he kept his own voice biddable. “Yes Sir.” he confirmed.   
  
“Have your … scans … picked up … anything unusual?”  
  
“As your Excellency is surely aware, we have observed several unknown vessels still several parsecs away. Is that what you mean, Sir?”  
  
“Hyes,” breathed Tzu. Jim refrained from rolling his eyes. “My sources … tell me those … vessels … carry a valuable package. One …. that we must obtain …. in pristine condition. My secretary will forward the details to you on a …. one-time secure … tight-beam connection.”  
  
“I understand, Sir. We will fetch the package.”  
  
“Hyes, you will.”  
  
Tzu closed the video connection and Jim watched as the ugly, meaty face blinked out. Kirk kept the data connection open, gave his personal code when the security software asked for it and waited until the information about the cargo was transferred. He familiarized the data he had been given and terminated the connection. Lastly the Captain ran a standard sweep routine to remove all traces of the call he had just made. He had no doubt someone aboard had picked up the data, but it didn't really matter. He would have to share it anyway. After all, had he truly wanted the message to be private, he could have used the state of the art comm device installed in his own quarters. The device was really quite magnificent – it was a shame its inventor and builder had met her end so early in an most inconvenient accident, in which Jim Kirk had played no part that anyone could ever prove.   
  
Kirk summoned the department chiefs to the ready room and slouched on a chair while waiting for the officers to file in. He thought about Spock. The memory of their earlier discussion still irked him. Jim remembered how calm Spock had been when Jim had barged in, and how the Vulcan hadn't even saluted him properly.  What had Spock said?  I have not given you a reason to doubt my loyalty. That was true. Still, it might be proper to teach the green-blooded computer some manners. Spock could use a lesson in obedience... The image of a subservient Vulcan kneeling before him was certainly a pleasurable one. Jim learned back on the chair, and as in his thoughts the beaten Spock begged for mercy, his hand slid down on his belly and down to the trousers of his uniform. Perhaps he should tie Spock up, bind his ankles and wrists together behind his back? It would leave the Vulcan so delicately vulnerable for Jim to do as he pleased. Or maybe he should drug him and watch as the carefully built mental control broke down?   
  
Jim's fingers grabbed his twitching, swollen cock. He didn't need ropes or chains, not with Spock – mere words would be enough. If he told him to strip and present himself to Jim, Spock would do it. Jim imagined Spock down on all fours, his head resting on the floor and his sweet ass up and ready for Jim to use.   
  
Kirk's hand began to move faster up and down the thick shaft. Jim knew Spock would not scream if Jim took him without preparation. Even if he did, no one would pay attention to it. In fact, they would not pay attention even if... even if Jim would give his lesson on the Bridge.  
  
The thought made Jim gasp out loud. He closed his hazel eyes, slowed his pace and circled the sensitive ridge of his cock with his fingertips. The pleasure made him shiver, just like Spock did in his imagination. Spock would try to argue, Jim was sure of it, but he'd yield. He would allow Jim to tear that blue uniform into tatters, right there on the Bridge. He would allow Jim to push him against the science station, face flat against the screens. Jim's fingers stroked the shaft almost gently before resuming their strong grip and fast rocking motion. The Captain was breathing hard as he thought how Spock would fight back when Jim let the Vulcan's slacks fall down on his ankles, revealing the tight ass for Jim to lick, bite and spank. No one would look. No one would dare to notice or intervene. No one would help Spock, even if he begged, and beg he would when Jim raped him, raped him in front of all his crew members, shamed the Vulcan and made him beg, beg, beg...   
  
Jim grunted and moaned when the release finally came. His seed spilled over his fingers and abdomen, releasing a musky aroma of lust. The image of Spock shimmered and vanished like a mirage. Casually Jim pulled up his pants, wiped his smudgy fingers to the underside of the table and laughed out loud. In a minute the climate control had neutralized the sweet odor, just in time before McCoy stepped into the room. Mr. Scott and Spock followed soon after, accompanied by an Andorian tactical analyst, a junior diplomat and a stunning young yeoman.   
  
Jim started the meeting as soon as everyone had seated. Refreshed by his recent friskiness he summarized what they knew about the hostile ships, which had recently been identified as vessels belonging to the little-known Klingon Empire. Then he moved on to reveal the demands sent to him on the secure tight-beam connection.  
  
“Aboard one of these vessels is a creature the Empire is interested in. She is a  _temera_ , an empathic being from the Gamma quadrant, and apparently an heiress to a very wealthy asteroid mining corporation. I don't know or care why she is with the Klingon convoy, or what the wrinkle-faced pugs want from her. But I do know that we will stop the convoy, get her our alive and deliver her to the Head of Acquisitions. Unharmed.”  
  
Jim eyed at his officers. Spock, as usual, was quiet. Mr. Scott scribbled on his PADD and presented a schedule for catching up the hostiles. As Spock had calculated earlier, but assuming the vessels would not change course, the Enterprise could warp ahead and meet the hostiles within a few days.   
  
“Assuming that they stay on their current course,” Spock reminded. “Should they suddenly change course or land between their current location and the planned rendezvous point, we may lose track of them entirely. Our scans cannot follow them in high warp speeds.”  
  
“You might be content spending sixteen days in low-warp,” McCoy complained, “but I am not. Let's just jump them, take the girl and deliver her to this Tzu-fellow. I have weeks worth of shore leave to keep.”   
  
“I agree with the Doctor,” the Andorian analyst piped. His face was pale, and it was obvious he had heard of Tzu and was not eager to disappoint the man. His blue antennae trembled as he quickly added: “Of course we must consider the risks Mr. Spock mentioned.”  
  
Jim made a mental note to watch the analyst closely. If the kid didn't grow a backbone before they met with the hostiles, he would get first-hand experience in a practical combat situation. McCoy huffed and opened his mouth, but Jim interrupted him. He had heard enough for now.  
  
“I want your plans on my desk within ten hours. Dismissed.”  
  
The Captain was the first to leave the stuffy room. Behind him the other officers continued arguing and debating on different tactics. Only Spock remained on his seat, filing memory disks and adjusting the settings of the communications console. From the corner of his eye the Vulcan watched carefully as the other officers filed away and the door closed with a sharp hiss.   
  
Spock sat still and waited, ears pricked and alert, for a few minutes. No one returned to pick up any forgotten items, and hallway behind the door was quiet. Finally Spock locked the door and sat down on a chair closest to the communicator screen. His quiet voice commanded the computer to turn the screen on.   
  
“Computer, connection alpha-alpha-one-five. Private channel, no logging, no tracing.”  
  
The screen showed Spock's commands. The connection opened slowly, because the computer had to bypass all regular routers and tracing points. Spock waited patiently as the signal was relayed, scrambled, unscrambled and finally accepted. A familiar stern face appeared on the screen. Sarek, Spock's father, did not speak.  
  
“Did you receive the equipment,  _osu_?” Spock asked without preamble.   
  
Sarek's eyes flashed in approval at the use of the Vulcan honorific. “Yes. The plant was most intriguing, and I have high hopes for it. The credits have been placed on the account you provided.”  
  
“We -” Spock began, but his father cut him short.  
  
“We need more supplies. The herd is hungry and vulnerable, and the wolves are closing in. There will be a battle soon.”  
  
“It will not be possible in several days. Can you manage, or shall I take action?”   
  
“It is supplies we need, not your rash actions. Contact me when you are available.   _Na'tikopah_.”  _For independence._  
  
' _Na'tikopah_ ,' Spock repeated, but the connection had already been closed. Spock pulled out a keyboard and tapped a few orders which deleted the logs of the last commands he had given to the computer.   
  
All traces of the call were now eliminated.  
  
***  
  
Jim was returning to the Bridge from the mess hall when he happened to walk past the botany lab. He stood before the blue door, no different from any other door on that corridor, or any other corridor on Deck 6. A faint, sweet aroma wafting from the lab made Jim sneeze. He pricked his ears but heard nothing. It was most curious, concerning that neither Sulu nor Uhura had been in the Bridge crew during the last shift. A faint smile played on Jim's lips. He knocked briskly but entered the room without waiting for a permission.  
  
The sweet scent from the various flowers, fruits and plants growing in the hydroponic tanks all over the room hit him like a hammer. The air was moist and warm, almost tropical, and a thin film of perspiration appeared on Jim's brow while his eyes darted around the room, looking for Sulu, Uhura, or anyone. An opportunistic vine brushed at the Captain's sleeve, pushed out a tiny hook and attached itself to the golden fabric, while a tender white flower in the end of another tendril began to open. Its petals were covered in tiny droplets of clear liquid.  
  
“Watch out for the white one, she's a quick beast,” someone suddenly said. Jim shook his hand until the tendril let go. The droplets from the petals fell to the floor, where left black, smoking stains before evaporating. A small red drop followed. Jim pushed up his sleeve and noticed a faint scratch where the hook had touched him.  
  
“What's it called?” Jim asked while rubbing his hand. The wound itched and was already growing angry red. “Is it poisonous?”  
  
An unfamiliar face peered at Jim from behind a leafy bush. The lab tech shook her head, stepped before Jim and saluted smartly. “No Sir, she's not not poisonous. My apologies, Captain. I was not expecting to see you here. I am botanical laboratory technician Saunders, and that - ” the tech pointed at the vine with the hooks and white flowers, “ - is still unnamed. We thought of her as Botanist's Curse, but perhaps Captain's Sorrow would be a more apt name.”  
  
Jim was not amused. He grunted and pushed his sleeve back down. The itching was beginning to fade, unlike his irritation.   
  
'Where's Mr. Sulu?' he asked.   
  
The lab tech swallowed a few times before she could answer. All color was suddenly drained from her pretty face. “He's... at the back. With … with Lieutenant Uhura, Sir. And Mr. Spock.” Her voice trembled.   
  
Jim's eyes narrowed. “Mr. Spock?”  
  
“Yes, Sir. Err... scientific trials, I believe, Sir. Uh... I am sorry, Sir. I must attend to the plants, if you please?”  
  
Jim recognized fear in the large doe's eyes of the tech. He suppressed a grin and simply nodded. The tech scurried away like an insect.   
  
Jim, now more curious than irritated, cocked his head and crossed the room with a few lengthy strides. The door to the inner laboratory, “the back”, opened as soon as it recognized the Captain. Spock and Sulu saluted him immediately. Uhura, who had her back to the Captain, tried to scream, but the vine in her mouth muffled her voice.   
  
“What's going on?” Jim demanded. He walked slowly around a large pot, in which a gigantic version of Captain's Sorrow held the squirming Uhura in its grip. Uhura's uniform was torn, her left breast was visible, and her dancer's legs were spread open. Her right ankle was bent in an unnatural angle.   
  
''Oh. That thing.”  
  
A white flower opened, petals already glistening with acid, and slowly dropped its petals over Uhura's skin. She tried to pull her hand away, but the hooks tore her skin and made escape impossible.  
  
“Fascinating,” Spock admitted and made a note on his PADD. Mr. Sulu smiled and poked at the plant. It didn't seem to react.  
  
“Captain, this plant is a real beast! Once it has caught its prey and begins to digest it, it is entirely indifferent to any external stimulus. And the speed with which it moves its vines, I'd guess almost a yard per minute-”  
  
“1,054 yards per standard minute,” Spock interrupted. “Maximum observed velocity of the thinner tendrils is 2,45 yards per minute. Average of all-”  
  
“It's fast,” Sulu admitted. “And ferocious. Of course, it has no idea of the size of Nyota here, so it can't do her any harm, but it sure is trying!”  
  
Kirk watched at the struggling woman and her beautiful bare breast. He crossed his arms and stared asmore of the white flowers opened and either dropped their petals or simply bent from their stem until they touched the skin, hair or uniform of Lt. Uhura. Her sprained ankle was beginning to swell, and the hooks of Captain's Sorrow burrowed deeper to her skin. Sulu kept poking at the plant and even cut it with a sharp scalpel, but the plant did nothing to protect itself.   
  
“Mr. Sulu,” said Spock, “how does the plant react if you try to take its prey?”  
  
“I'd be happy to try! Let's see now...”   
  
Sulu reached towards Nyota, but nothing happened. The plant continued tearing Uhura's skin and clothes, while the tender flowers rained acid on her. Sulu licked his lips and grabbed hold of Uhura's bare, perky breast. As soon as his fingers touched the brown skin, several thin tendrils swung at him, and he just barely managed to pull his hand away before the tiny hooks burrowed themselves into his skin.   
  
“Fascinating,” Spock remarked and made a note on the PADD.  
  
Sulu eyed the plant approvingly. '”oo bad we only have this one, and a tiny scion in the main lab. We used to have a third one, same species but different color, but it's nowhere to be found.”  
  
Jim's head whipped around. “What? Was it stolen?”  
  
“Could be. It's a shame, really. These things cannot survive outside laboratory conditions  for long, and I don't think we'll be able to get another specimen anytime soon. These aren't natural, you see, but genetically enhanced.”  
  
Jim thought for a while and then looked at Spock. His eyes were glinting mischievously.  
  
“I think Sherlock here should look into the matter, Mr. Sulu. I don't want anyone thinking they can just pick up research material and walk away with it, especially if the said material is useful like our sweet little shrub here. Spock, figure it out.”  
  
“May I remind you that you tasked me with preparing battle plans together with the tacticians, and to prepare an in-depth analysis of the temera?” Spock asked. His voice was as passive as his face, but Jim heard the aggravation behind the Vulcan's words.   
  
Mr. Sulu made a point not to look at neither of the other men in the room. Instead, he picked up Spock's PADD and began to review the notes they had been taking. The acid of the plant was proving to be surprisingly potent, and should be analyzed more thoroughly. And why didn't it affect the plant itself?  Uhura moaned quietly and trashed around with what little strength she had left.  
  
“Are you saying you're not up to it?” Jim asked Spock almost sweetly. To Jim, Spock's face told everything he needed to know. I am up to it, and you know it, his face seemed to say. I am more than capable of more things than you dare to think about.   
  
Jim grinned. That subdued arrogance, coupled with the Vulcan's strength and cunning, was precisely why he kept Spock so close. Or at least part of the reason. Jim let his eyes feast on Spock's body, hidden beneath the blue uniform, but still so obviously muscular and lithe. He imagined seeing Spock's nipples through the fabric.  _He knows I enjoy the sight of him_ , Jim thought.  _I wonder... is that a bulge in his pants?_  Jim's cheeks took on a pinkish hue.  
  
“Report your findings to me,” Jim said and coughed to steady his voice. The Captain turned his attention back to Mr. Sulu, who was already blissfully ignorant to the tensions between Jim and Spock. He was typing away at the PADD and muttering to himself.  
  
“Mr. Sulu, cut Uhura loose. Lieutenant, report to the sickbay. I need you to brief with the tacticians concerning the possibilities of interrupting the Klingons' communications before and during the battle.”  
  
Uhura didn't react to Jim's words in any manner: she was unconscious. The Captain was pleased knowing that she'd be more careful of her tone of voice on the Bridge from now on. Jim turned around to leave, but not without giving one last look to Spock.  
  
“I want your... first report tonight. Meet me at my quarters in seven hours.”  
  
Spock nodded. Dutifully, obediently.

Jim smiled to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Seven hours later Jim was still smiling. His eyes were alight with inner fire as he stared at the icons on the map. He laughed softly as a large blue dot appeared, jumped here and there in a maze of green lasers, and all the seven red dots disappeared as the jade spears hit them. The Andorian junior tactician stood behind the Captain and trembled.

 'Well well, it worked! Well done,' Jim congratulated him after the simulation was over and the probability metrics were scrolling on the screen.  _Casualties (own): 11 %, Casualties (enemy): 99 %, Damage sustained: 25 %_.

 “The gunnery was optimized for maximum damage output, Sir. With energy optimization the battle will take longer, but the likelihood of victory with less than 30 % of damage increases 15 %,” the Andorian said. His shoulders were no longer shaking, but his forehead was still covered in a thin film of greenish sweat. Jim could smell his fear. He inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the intoxicating aroma. He felt invincible and wanted to show it.

 

 “Where's the fun in that?” Kirk asked. “I say we go in, pick up the chick, blow the ships up and go home.”

  “Yes Sir. Err, Sir?”

  “What is it?”

  “I... I believe the torpedo team could use more practice. Their average time for targeting and loading is below superior in the Imperial Military Grading Scale. If I may suggest, perhaps we could find time for a short stop before the battle so they could practice?”

 

 Jim turned around in his swiveling leather chair and truly looked at the Andorian for the first time. The junior had no name on his uniform, which was a shame. This one might actually be useful after all, and it was always good to know the names of those who are adept at killing – and those who dared tell him his crew was ineffective. Perhaps he should be given a chance.

  “Talk to the helmsmen. Look for an asteroid belt, or a comet if you want to practice on a moving target. We have no time to divert course to an inhabited moon or a planet now.”

  For a moment the Andorian was quiet and eyed at the Captain nervously. His lips were quivering as if he was trying to decide whether target practice on inhabited planets was a joke, but soon enough he found his voice again: “Yes Sir!” Despite his earlier hesitation, a faint blush of dark blue creeped on the the analyst's cheeks and his antennae began to vibrate excitedly.

   _Not just useful, but eager, too,_  Jim thought.  _If he's alive after this mission and his face still pleases me, he's in for a promotion._

  Jim turned off the tactics screen and almost dismissed the Andorian before he remembered Uhura. He was sure the kid had heard about Uhura, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure. The tactician remained behind the seat while the Captain used the intercom to contact the sickbay.

  “McCoy?” Jim called. “Has Lieutenant Uhura reported in yet?”

  “ _Yes, she has. What in the blue blazes did you do to her? She's bruised all over, full of tiny cuts, her ankle has a minor fracture, and she's got tens of 2nd degree burns! If you keep this up, I'll have no time to treat any real injuries once the fighting starts!”_

  Jim heard the Andorian draw breath behind him. He could image that blue face turning a shade or two whiter.

  “What did she say happened to her?”

  ” _Oh, you know, she's a proud one. Says she was clumsy in the kitchen. I've never seen her cook before, and I sure as hell know she ain't clumsy!”_

  ”Well, if she's never cooked before, it sure explains her clumsiness. When is she fit for duty again?” Jim half expected Bones to say  _never_ , but the old military surgeon was smarter than that.

  ” _She says she_ is _fit. I can't force her to stay here, but I'd like to keep her under surveillance for one night, at least.”_

  ”As you say. Hail the Emperor!”

 

 ” _Hail my ass_ ,” came a muttered reply before the doctor closed the connection.

 

 Jim turned and pretended to be surprised when he saw the pale face of the Andorian. ''Still here, junior? Dismissed. Go work with the torpedo team. We don't want to look.. clumsy... in the battle, do we?'

  The analyst had barely answered in the negative before he was already out of the room, heading fast away from the Captain, and still speeding.

  Jim smirked and glanced at the chronometer. Spock should be waiting for him already. The Captain got up and stretched his arms while he made his way to the turbolift, down to the crew deck and back to his own quarters. The faint hum and whine of the warp engines was louder down here. The Captain imagined he could feel the power pulsing through the bulkheads, and almost felt the heat of the plasma as he brushed his outstretched fingertips against the low ceiling.

  ”Only six more days now, old girl,” Jim whispered quietly. ”Six more days until it's time to kill again.”

  ”Five days, 13 hours and 5 minutes,” said a familiar, deep voice.

  Jim looked up to the stoic face of Spock. ”Hey,” he said simply.

  The door to the Captain's quarters remained open just long enough to let both men in. Jim stretched again and slumped on his plush, dark red velvet couch. He caressed the fabric. ”Real velvet from Earth, Spock. They don't make stuff life this anymore.”

 Jim remained slouching on the couch while Spock gave his short report regarding the disappeared Captain's Sorrow -plant, the  _temera_  diplomat Tzu was interested in and the advancement of battle tactics. Kirk listened only partially, fully aware that all the information was already in official reports for him to read when he pleased. That was one of the advantages of being a Captain, Jim often thought. Things happened when it pleased the Captain. Right now, slumping on the couch and listening to Spock drone on, he was not very pleased. Since Spock was apparently blind to Kirk's boredom Jim had to take control.

 ”Sit down, Spock,” he commanded.

 Obediently Spock finished his sentence and began to place himself on a separate chair, but Jim interrupted him.

 ”No, here. With me.” Jim pated the couch and sat up straight to make room for the Vulcan.

 Spock did as requested, but immediately resumed reciting his report. Jim smiled; it was a rare and genuine smile without a hint of malice. He made circling motions with his right forefinger to indicate that Spock should turn around. Once the Vulcan had his back towards Jim, the Captain began to gently massage Spock's shoulders.

 ”The energy consumption of the strategy C-1 is 5 % higher, but the increased effectivity -”

 ”Spock?”

 ”Jim?”

 ”Shut up.”

 Spock turned his head and looked at the Captain quizzically. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought the better of it, sighed in resignation and turned his back to the Captain again. Jim resumed his massage. His palms rested on Spock's shoulders while his thumbs rubbed the Vulcan's shoulders and neck. Jim felt the curves of the vertebrae beneath his fingers and pressed his fingers deep into the tense muscles on both sides of the spine. Spock sat rigidly on the couch; Jim told him to relax.

 Slowly Jim began to use more strength to really dissolve the kinks he felt through Spock's uniform. He placed his knuckles against the uniform-covered back before him and pushed rhytmically. Working his way down from the neck, between the shoulder blades and down to the lower back he rubbed and squeezed until he could feel the tight muscles giving in slightly, yielding to his touch.

 ”You're tense,” Jim said softly. Spock gave no response, and Jim expected none. The Captain started rubbing with his thumbs and nodded to himself. The muscles on Spock's back were definitely softer now. He could feel the vertebrae moving with the muscles, and saw Spock's shoulders slumping to a more natural position. The proud head was bent forward, and without seeing it, Jim knew Spock's eyes to be closed. In that rare relaxed posture Spock looked more human... and more vulnerable, more  _desirable_.

 Jim let his fingers brush softly on Spock's neck. Instead of strength he now relied on gentleness. His fingers traced the muscles from the wide shoulders up to slender the neck, right below the deliciously curved ear and back down again. It was not massaging anymore, he knew; it was caressing. But the hot skin of the Vulcan felt just too soft and inviting under his fingers, too irresistible for Kirk to say no to. Feeling a strange tingle in his tummy the Captain leaned forward and breathed softly on the jet-black smooth hair. His lips brushed at the sensitive tip of Spock's right ear.

  Spock, who had let his mental guard down during the relaxing massage, suddenly shivered at the surprising touch.

  ”Captain, I should return to my duties-”

  ”Hush, Spock.”

  ”The tactics -”

  ”Shhhhh now.”

  Spock turned his head around. Something akin to regret shone in his eyes when he shrugged Jim's hand away from his shoulder.

  ”Sir, my duty requires me to -”

  Jim's eyes narrowed. Unlike his libido, his patience was very limited. His hand darted forward and his fingers pressed down hard on a certain pressure point in Spock's arm. Spock drew a sharp breath and clenched his jaws, biting his teeth in agony. Jim was almost proud. He himself had screamed like a wounded  _seh'lat_  and almost lost consciousness when a competing Starfleet officer had tried this move on him years ago. Jim released his grip and admired the speed with which the Vulcan recovered.

  ”I specify your orders, Mr. Spock,” Kirk reminded the officer. His eyes were locked on Spock's and his voice had a razor-sharp edge to it. ”You're not going back to Mr. Holmes just yet. Now, since you're so keen on amusement, entertain me.”

  Spock cocked his head just slightly and allowed his eyebrows to rise.  _Like hell you don't understand,_  Jim thought.  _You know bloody well what I want from you!_

  ”Captain,” Spock began and stood up from the plush couch, but Jim's cold glare shut him up. The earlier softness in Jim eyes was gone. Shaking his head slightly Kirk grabbed the hem of Spock's uniform shirt, yanked hard, and watched as the Vulcan fell down on his knees on the floor accompanied by the noise of tearing fabric.

  Spock made no attempt to stand back up. He sat on his knees before Jim and bowed his noble head. The sight of the cowed Vulcan was like wind to the flames of lust he already felt, and the tingling in his groin grew more demanding. Kirk could feel his cock twitching, eager to see how the Vulcan could entertain him.

  ”Do as I say, half-breed.”

  To Kirk's disappointment Spock did not even flinch.  _Half-breed_. Spock knew the words were meant to cut him like a _lirpa_ , but it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. The Captain had no idea how often Spock had heard those words, how little they meant to him, and how well he knew his own strength and intelligence. He was indeed a half-breed and stronger for it. Spock kept his eyes on the floor to hide the amused glint in his eye from Kirk, who revelled in the power he felt before the beaten Vulcan. Jim made a low growling sound, much like a panther right before it leaps for the kill

  ”Disobey me, and you'll never work with the Starfleet again... nor that precious Science Academy of yours,” he said, but his voice was more husky with lust than angry. Kirk reached down towards Spock again and stroked the black hair almost gently before grabbing a tuft of hair and pulling Spock's head down towards the seat of the couch. Jim spread his legs and leaned back. For a second he just admired the sight of Spock, sitting on his knees before Jim, his head bowed.

  ”Make me forget Starfleet for now. Please me with your mouth.”

  Spock did not move. Jim sighed.

  ”Have it your way, mutt. It will be more fun like this anyway!”

  Faster than even Spock could have imagined Jim swung his arm and hit. His open palm caught Spock's face with bone-shattering force and nearly threw Spock off-balance. The edge of Jim's golden Academy class ring cut a shallow but long wound on the high cheeckbone, causing a few droplets of emerald green blood to run down the cheek like tears. Spock swallowed and sensed the familiar, coppery taste of blood.

  Jim ripped open the buttons on his uniform pants and dug his limp but still sizeable cock out. With one hand he held the member and with another yanked Spock's head violently closer. The force of his pull tore a few thin strands of Spock's black hair off and sent them floating to the floor. Kirk shivered with pleasure as he noted how prickly Spock's beard felt on his crotch, even through his own curly hair.

  ”Well? Do your duty, First Officer! Suck it!”

  Kirk did not let go until he felt his flaccid penis being surrounded by a hot Vulcan mouth. Spock's lips were slightly chafed, but his tongue felt pleasurably coarse on Jim's soft and sensitive skin. Once Jim felt the tip of Spock's tongue flicking over the ridge of his cock he eased on the hair-pulling and began to caress the Vulcan before him. His fingers began to massage Spock's shoulders softly and gently as if encouraging the man on.

  It didn't take long before Jim was already hard and breathing heavily. He didn't have to force Spock anymore: the Vulcan was a quick learner, and adapted his actions expertly based on Jim's reactions. The faster Jim breathed, the slower Spock moved his tightly-pressed lips against the shaft; the slower Jim's pulse, the faster and harder Spock sucked. His bleeding mouth covered Jim in saliva and blood, which combined with the blood from Spock's cheek and ran down his chin in tiny rivulets.

  ”Good boy,” Jim whispered between his moans of pleasure. ”Good little boy. Please your master.... yes...”

  Jim's fingers dug into Spock's scalp deeply but not roughly enough to draw blood. Spock's mouth felt hot, tight and demanding: Jim had to use all his self-control to prolong the pleasure, while his body was teetering on the edge between comfortable control and the insanity of an orgasm.

  Spock swallowed Jim deep down his throat. Like a lion, the Vulcan began to growl, and the vibrations of his voice reverberated through his throat to Jim's rigid cock. The vibrations and the low, threatening and muffled sound of the growl made Jim's every single neuron fire at full speed. In desperation for release the Captain pulled the Vulcan against his groin at the same time as his seed spilled in Spock's throat. The Vulcan coughed and gagged, but his trashing against Jim's steely grip was in vain. Only with difficulty he managed to swallow the white, sticky liquid, earning him his freedom. Reluctantly Jim let go of Spock's tousled hair.

  Spock wiped his mouth and bloody chin, but the stains on his uniform shirt had already dried. The musky smell of sex floated around the room. The captain grunted and pulled his pants back up unceremoniously.

  ”Didn't you have duties to attend to?” he asked, barely glancing down at his kneeling officer.

  Spock took a while before he managed to stand up. His entire body was shaking and his hands were clenching to fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, but still he stayed silent and avoided looking at Jim. He did not answer. When Spock finally left the Captain's quarters Kirk didn't even bother turn his head to look at him go.

  Jim stayed still after Spock had gone, listening to the whine of the A/C trying to return the odors and temperature of the room to normal. The soft couch began to feel hard under him and the plush red velvet now seemed shabby. Slowly, languidly Jim stretched and yawned. A few strands of gold-colored hair fell on his forehead as he turned his head towards the door. The corners of his mouth relaxed and curved to a hint of a sincere smile.

  ”Silly old hobgoblin,” he said to himself, his quiet voice bereft of anger or malice.

  ***

  ”Confrontation in 19 hours, 40 minutes”, Mr. Chekov announced.

  'Very well. Launch the decoy beacon in T minus 10 hours,' Jim instructed. The Captain was already giddy with anticipation and fiddled with the controls on his armrest. He knew he'd soon be more anxious than expectant and more paranoid than confident, but it would all change into quiet certainty once the combat started and the first phasers were fired. His excitement was further heightened by a recent message from the Head of Acquisitions:  _If you pull this one off, you just might need to change your uniform to something more appropriate for an Admiral,_ Tzu had said in the video. Tzu was lying, of course, but his words had some truth in them. This mission was important, and just might give that last push Jim needed to advance to the next rank.

 

 Chekov's voice woke Jim from his reveries.

  ”Decoy ready for launch in 45 minutes. Launch set at T minus 10 hours,” the Russian confirmed.

  ”Frequency of the beacon?”

  ”563 point 83, Sir, and re-programmable, like you requested.”

  'Intercept their radio signals as soon as you can, Uhura. Scan all frequencies so Mr. Chekov can set the beacon up accordingly,' Jim commanded without even glancing at his communications officer. As Kirk had expected Uhura's ”aye aye Sir” was loud, sharp and immediate. It would do, Jim decided. Apparently the dark-skinned beauty had learned something from her short experience with Captain's Sorrow the Seriously Fucked-Up Plant.

  Jim picked up his PADD from the armrest and skimmed through the pre-combat checklist.  _Primary, secondary and tertiary weapons teams assigned_? Jim poked at the item with the pen, and a dark V appeared to mark the task complete. The tertiary teams would be lousy at best, but then again he had no intention to ever need them.  _Ammunition stock taken?_ Yes, by three different people, who had all arrived at the same number of available ammo. The fourth had come up with another number, but after a short trip to the agonizer booth she had corrected her estimate.  _Escape shuttles prepared and stocked?_ Jim marked the item done, even though he knew well the shuttles were not only empty of food and water but also taken apart long ago to be used spare parts. If someone wanted to escape, the  _Enterprise_  had several perfectly functional airlocks.

  The red light at the the upper edge of the PADD began to blink. An alert about an urgent message showed up on the screen, so Jim clicked the message open. As his eyes darted from row to another his brow began to furrow and his jaws clenched. The report was short but enough to raise a flush of anger on his cheeks. There were images attached to the report, and with trembling hands Jim clicked them open, viewing each one carefully. James T. Kirk cursed under his breath like only he could. His instincts told him to throw the PADD away and make a certain someone hurt like all hell, but his training got the better of him. This was not the time to act on the new information, however damning it was. Not yet.

  Not just yet.

  The captain had to focus on his breathing just to calm himself down. He breathed in, counted slowly to three and breathed out again. Curses slipped from his lips before the drew breath again. One, two,  _I will kill him,_ three. Out.  _But not yet._ In. One, two, three. Out.  _He'll pay for this._ In. One, two, three.  _Later._ Out. In. Count. Out. Good.

  Kirk forced his tensed shoulders to relax before he went through the remainder of the pre-combat list, ticking item after item. Finally he he left the PADD to the seat and retreated to his quarters for a snack and a quick nap before the action. The report was long since forgotten by the time he found himself laying on his bed, his eyes dry and aching, but much needed sleep eluded him. Jim tried jerking off thinking about the look on Spock's face several days ago, when the Vulcan had sat there on Jim's floor, humiliated and abused, with Jim's sperm and his own green blood on his otherwise spick-and-span uniform, but even his dick refused to obey him. Frustrated and even angrier than before Kirk reached to a tiny box in a secret compartment below his bed. His prying fingers picked up two yellow pills which he quickly swallowed. The bitter taste of the meds soon cleared off as Jim's consciousness faded into a drug-hazed oblivion.

  The Captain woke up to the sharp whistle of the intercom.

  ” _Bridge to Captain. Captain, can you hear me?”_

  Jim jumped up on his bed. Despite the sudden awakening his every muscle was ready for action as adrenalin coursed through his veins. His heart was beating the music of the ancient drums of war, and he wondered if the Bridge crew could hear the thumping through the com system. After-effects of the drug, he knew. He'd be alright soon enough.

  ”Kirk here. What is it?”

  ” _We have picked up an audio signal from the enemy vessels. Full frequency scan in progress, stealthed scans ready as soon as the ships are close enough.”_

  ”The beacon! What about the beacon?” While talking Jim fumbled for the pill box, opened it and picked up a single, light blue capsule containing enzymes which would break the remainder of the earlier drug still in his system. It would also rid him of the damn side effects, which included all the colorful sounds and bitter colors currently floating about his room.

  ” _The beacon has been launched, Sir, and it is broadcasting. The Klingons should be able to hear the signal any second now.”_

  ”Go to yellow alert. I'm on my way.”

  The cabin was now beginning to swim back into focus, and the blinking alarm lights were closer to yellow than minty green with a hint of waffle. Jim's hands were no longer shaking as his pulse slowed down to normal, so he shook his head to clear his thoughts and activated the intercom again.

 

 ”Is Mr. Spock on the Bridge?”

  While waiting for a response the Captain turned on the Tantalus field and selected the secret camera showing the Bridge. A tiny wave of annoyance washed over him as he watched Spock on the Captain's seat, all proud and arrogant, sitting there like he belonged on that covetuous position of power.  _Jim's_  position. Still, he was pleased to see Spock's scar had healed. It had been an ugly scar, but most importantly it would've raised questions, and Jim hated being questioned.

  He watched as Spock straightened his back on the Captain's seat before replying to Jim's question himself.

  ”Spock here,” Spock said. Jim watched those tight lips move as he uttered the words. The Vulcan did not say ”Sir”, or even ask what Jim wanted of him. The lack of respect made Jim think of the recept report, the memory of which still made the hairs on his neck stand out in anger. Earlier Kirk had granted Spock some leeway with the formalities, but perhaps it had been a mistake to give so much leash to the pretty little thing?

  ”Keep an eye on their formation and any communications they have. Kirk out.”

  On the Bridge the Captain sat down on his chair, rubbed his palms together and leaned back. The sleep had done him good: his brilliant mind felt crystal clear, his senses were heightened and his entire body was bursting with energy. Jim Kirk was ready: ready for the battle, ready for his promotion as Admiral. It was time to kill.

  The main screen showed five ships in tight formation. Each was trailed by its velocity, identification and movement vector in small letters. They were all running on impulse engines only, most likely to maintain the military formation and to enable high resolution scans on their environment. Of the original convoy of seven vessels two had departed at warp 3 from the others. An additional screen showed them heading towards the decoy beacon, which showed on the map as a tiny blinking dot.

  ”When did those two leave the formation?” Jim wanted to know.

  ”One and a half hours ago, Sir,” replied someone.

  ”1.42 hours,” Spock corrected from his station. Unexpectedly the deep voice made Jim uneasy and irritated, but he could not afford thinking about it right now. The Captain fought down his insulted pride and forced himself to consider the given departure time.

  ”Sooner than expected,” he muttered to himself. ”They are running HR scans. The damn pug-faces will spot us much too fast with those Science-class scanners.”

  Jim barked an order to immediately begin recycling waste plasma to reduce heat emissions, and to cut all broadband communications to a minimum. That should make the  _Enterprise_  less obvious on the Klingon scans.  _Surprise is our only advantage. We need to-_

  The sound of footsteps broke Jim's chan of thought and alerted him to Spock's approach. Kirk both heard and felt Spock take his usual place right beside the Captain's seat.

  ”Analysis of their communication suggests that their commander is in vessel B,” Spock stated and pointed at one of the five ships in the square formation. The ship in the middle, Jim suspected, held the diplomat. Spock confirmed his assumption.

  ”The two other ships are closing in on the beacon,” the helmsmen added. ”Estimated time to visual contact is 2,4 hours. Scanners indicate a crew of 40-300 on each vessel, with 40 on ship D, 200 on B and C and 300 on A and E.”

  The battle tactics screen beeped loudly. Red circles with an exclamation mark in each one blinked around the first two ships, then around the one on the middle and finally on the last ones.

 'Five enemy vessels within torpedo range,' the junior military advisor gasped excitedly. His antennae were shaking in agitation as he stared at the screens like a stupid, begging dog. Kirk would have laughed at him but his mind was bright red with bloodlust.

  ”Kill them,” Kirk whispered. ”On screen. Kill them.”

  According to his commands an image of five beautiful, sleek Klingon warbirds filled the main screen. Every bird had dual beams mounted under their wings and a powerful torpedo cannon at the beak. Otherwise they were all similar, all bearing the icons of the warfaring Klingon Empire.

 The helmsmen relayed the kill order to the weapons teams, and within seconds Jim saw the first torpedoes launch at the ships. He watched as the bright red balls of devastating power hit their targets and laughed as the hulls of the warbirds crackled with energy when the Klingons turned on their reflector shields. Immediately a string of data began to scroll over the screen: launching the torpedoes had started the combat analyzer mechanism. A quiet buzz filled the Bridge as the scanners began to analyze and report combat information, count used ammo, analyze received damage and track the routes of all vessels, shuttles and projectiles.

  The warbirds continued on their present course for some time after the initial impact. Due to their size they were slow to turn and even slower to accelerate, which was the key to Jim's strategy. It was almost enthralling watching those massive vessels turn their long sleek necks, fire up their auxiliary engines and turn towards the  _Enterprise,_ all simultaneously, all hulls shining with the green and turquoise light of the shields. The thrusters of the first ships made the wings of the last ones shimmer like real feathers of an eagle swooping down for a kill.

  The first vessel shot a short burst of plasma, which passed the  _Enterprise_  by a far margin. Faint shimmering under the wings of the others alerted Jim to an incoming beam barrage.

  ”Evasive maneuvers!”

  The whole ship twisted and turned as the helmsmen began to evade the incoming beams and torpedoes. Speed was the key now: the Klingon warbirds had powerful weapons, but their arc was limited. By turning fast and bobbing around the convoy the  _Enterprise_ could avoid most hits, and even trick the Klingons to shoot at one another in their attempt to swat the Imperial intruder.

  ”Shields at 85 % and holding,” bellowed someone just before another barrage of torpedoes hit the sides of the Enterprise. ”Decks six to twelve report minor damage. 32 casualties,” added Uhura, before the first voice corrected: ”Shields at 70 %.”

  ”Keep jumping. Let them tire themselves out,” Jim instructed. Just to amuse himself he turned the seat around to watch the young advisor he had had so high hopes for. The kid was holding on well; his face was bloody from when he had crashed to the floor due to the maneuvering and he had pissed himself from fright, but otherwise he seemed to be alright. His blue eyes were full of terror and determination as he noticed the Captain looking at him.

  ”Sir, the shields...” he began.

  ”The shields will hold. The first barrages have the most firepower and the least accuracy, as the enemy launches everything they have in a fit of panic. We've taken … what would you say we've taken, Spock?”

  ”23,4 % of the shots fired have hit us, Sir. 7 % of them were direct hits.”

  ”We've taken minor damage,” Jim summarized and almost laughed at the relief so plain on the boy's face. ”We'll live. They won't,” the Captain added cheerfully and pointed at the screen. It showed the Enterprise buzzing around the convoy like an angry bee, jumping from one position to another faster than the warbirds could turn. Every now and then the Bridge shook from a beam hit, but most torpedoes they could easily evade.

  The slow warbirds weren't so lucky. Jim laughed as one of the birds took a serious hit to its right wing from a torpedo fired by its ally. The damaged bird began to plunge down in a spiral of smoke, crashed into another ship, knocked it away from the formation and right into the line of fire. The crew members, apart from Spock, hooted in unison.

 Even in the middle of all the noise Jim kept glancing at the smaller screen to make sure that the two other ships stayed on their route. They both were already too far to participate in the fight and therefore not an immediate threat. They were closing in on the beacon...

  ”Sir! I believe they are planning to beam the diplomat to a safe location,” Uhura exclaimed suddenly. She was holding on to her earpiece while her other hand was busily flipping the switches on her station. ”It's... I … it's hard to say, Sir. The computer hasn't decrypted all of their communications yet. Sir.”

  ”Fire the torpedoes. Reduced power when targeting vessel E, I want their shields to stay up. Take out the rest of them.” Jim watched as the hulls of the ships flared white and red as their already damaged shields took the impact of the photon torpedoes. As long as their shields stayed up they would not be able to use the transporter.

  Two of the four remaining ships showed explosions like orange flowers blooming on their hull, but they still kept advancing and firing. The vessel containing the diplomat was hit as well, only their shields were still flaring, still holding.

  A quiet beep sounded as the two other ships were getting closer and closer to the decoy beacon. Their speed was rapidly decelerating, and Kirk assumed they were preparing to turn back. He flipped a switch on the armrest.

  ”Engineering?” Kirk called.

  ” _Aye, Scotty here_ ,” came a reply from the intercom. Jim could barely hear the man through the hum and whine of the engines, both always present in the engineering section. Sometimes Jim had wondered how a ship's engineer would react to a total silence. Would they go crazy sooner than others? Maybe he should try sometime – it might prove useful, or least amusing. But not now. Not yet.

  ” _What can I do for you, Sir?”_ Scotty asked, perhaps for the second time. Kirk wasn't sure.

  ”Detonate the beacon.”

  The Captain flipped the microphone off before Scotty could answer and turned his attention back to the screen. On the screen the beacon blinked once, but nothing else could be seen from the massive EMP which just had fried every electronic device within 15 000 klicks from the beacon.

  Jim reminded the military analyst to memorize the location, since the two drifting vessels were perfect targets for weapons practice once this tomfoolery with the diplomat was over with.

  All around the  _Enterprise_ the main fight was still in full throttle. Tetryon and plasma beams painted straight, lethal lines across the black space and carved their way through metal and flesh alike. Hulls ripped and metal melted as torpedoes found their targets. Despite the havoc all around them the crew on the Bridge and down in the weapons decks worked in perfect unison. The exact fire from the gunnery teams turned soaring warbirds into lame ducks while the helmsmen kept the _Enterprise_  dancing around its victims. Soon only one warbird was answering to the fire with a single beam cannons. A lone torpedo kissed its neck and broke the sleek vessel into two.

  ”Damage report,” Jim commanded as the last red light on the analytics screen faded away.

  ”Shields at 15 %,” the advisor reported.

  ”All decks report minor damage. Decks five to 34 have medium or severe damage as well. Repairs are in progress. 104 casualties, 97 injured,” added Uhura.  _Oops. Bones is not going to be too happy about that!_

  Visual showed only one remaining bird, which was now floating in the space without a head. It was the vessel with the _temera_ , Kirk hoped, although he was not entirely sure and didn't really care either. The ship had some minor fires speckling the hull here and there, but scans indicated it was stable enough for a team to board it. Kirk sent a small recovery team to board, loot and bring the bitch back alive, if possible.

  Kirk stood up and arched his aching back. The chronometer told him the battle had lasted almost five hours, although it had felt more like five minutes.  _Time flies when you're having fun,_ the Captain thought, grinned and turned to Spock and the junior analyst, who were picking up fallen PADDs and debris from the floor.

  ”Post-battle analysis in the briefing room at 2200 ship time,” Jim commanded, yawned again and made haste to leave the Bridge. Another glance at the chronometer told him he should just have enough time for a martial arts practice to release the kinks on his back and to burn away the post-combat stress. Only when he was all alone in the turbolift did he realize he should've taken Spock along and fucked the Vulcan's brains out.

  That would've been far more satisfying than a few karate chops.


	3. The Entertainer by plaktow

A few hours after the battle analysis meeting the security team had located the target and were bringing her over to the _Enterprise_. When the announcement of her capture came Jim was laying on his bed with his eyes half-closed. Spock was kneeling astride on the Kirk's hips and watching the handsome human intently, almost admiringly.

 A crackling sound reminded them both of the incoming call. Jim reached for his communicator and flicked its cover open with an easy move of his wrist. Since his other hand was busy massaging Spock's wonderfully muscled thighs he had to use his mouth to twist a channel selector knob before he could use the device. Spock glanced enviously at the duraplast button between Jim's lips. Grinning mischievously Jim gave the knob a quick lick before responding to the call. He almost chuckled out loud when he saw the hungry flash in Spock's eyes.

 ” _Captain?_ ” asked someone over the communicator.

 ”Kirk here. What is it?”

 Jim craned upwards to plant a sloppy kiss on Spock's chiseled cheek. The Vulcan responded by nuzzling Jim's neck and gently, teasingly biting the Captain's neck and shoulder. Spock was still fully clothed, while Jim had tossed his sleeveless uniform shirt to the furthest corner of the room. Spock's finger circled Jim's right nipple and made the human's skin prickle.

 ” _Mission accomplished, Sir,”_  the redshirt-or-another reported.

 Jim had to focus on each word when congratulating the boarding team on a job acceptably done. It was difficult enough just to speak as Spock's hot tongue licked over Jim's collar bone, slid down the curve of his pectorals and made his dark nipples harden and stand out as if begging for attention. Jim was running his fingers up and down Spock's thigh, feeling the strength of the muscles beneath the fabric, sensing the tiniest vibrations caused by the Vulcan's rapid heartbeat. Spock leaned down.

 ” _Where do you want her?”_

 This time Jim could not answer, for his mouth was full of Spock's. Their tongues intertwined in a fierce kiss, and the bed creaked ominously as Jim pulled Spock's weight down on him. With his only free hand Jim tried desperately to rid Spock of the interfering uniform, which so cruelly prevented the Captain from feeling the scorching heat of the pale Vulcan skin. Jim shivered as Spock pulled free of the kiss, gave a demanding bite on Jim's neck and whispered to his Captain's ear, his voice husky with lust:

 ”Kirk, my Captain... please... let me please you!”

 To accentuate his request Spock pressed down with his hips and ground his rock-hard erection against the bulge in Jim's pants.

 Kirk grunted and dug his fingers into Spock's skin in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable.  _I'm losing my edge,_ Jim thought. _In his presence I lose the only thing that keeps me a step ahead of him in the ranks. Does he take delight in humiliating me like this? Is that what you want, Spock – to humiliate me, to make me look soft? Damnit, pointy-ears, you'll regret this!_

 ” _Sir?”_

 Jim barely had the sense to take his finger of the submit-button before answering to Spock.  _I'm really losing it._ Even the annoyance he had pretended earlier was gone, whisked away by the currents of the Vulcan's desire.

 ”Permission granted,” Jim barked huskily, and moaned quietly at the disappointment of the Vulcan mouth leaving his neck. In a second the momentary frustration was replaced with renewed lust when Spock's fingers began to unbutton Jim's pants.

 

Kirk's hand was shaking as he raised the communicator to his lips.

 

”Disturbance … can't hear you... come again?”

 

To Kirk's surprise Spock ran out of patience, snarled and tore into Jim's clothes. In order to avoid being lacerated by the Vulcan beast Kirk pushed his hips upwards to allow Spock to pull his shredded pants and already moist boxers away. Spock's eyes gleamed almost feverishly as he admired the naked Captain lying before him, proud and arrogant, pink cock fully erect and resting against perfect bronze skin.

 

A flick of a green-hued tongue got rid of a tiny, clear droplet at the tip of Jim's cock. The Captain gasped.

 ” _Where do you want her, Sir?”_ the poor crewman repeated. His uncertain voice betrayed his confusion over the Captain's strange replies.

  _'_ ”Take her...”

 Kirk held valiantly on to the communicator, bent his knees up and spread his legs for Spock. His mind was wandering and his body acted of its own will.  _Who gives a damn about_ her _,_ Jim thought feverishly.  _It's a_ he _I want, and I want him inside me, fast and hard and NOW._

 Almost as a response to Jim's private thoughts the very same tongue, which had kissed the Captain's lips a moment ago, flicked over the tight pucker between Jim's buttocks. Jim could not prevent himself from moaning as the tongue was pushed deeper, its wetness touching Jim from the  _inside_.

 

 _'_ ”Take her to...”

 With a strong shove Spock pushed Jim's legs even wider apart. He buried his face to the warmth between Jim's legs and let his tongue circle the clenching rosette, lubricating it just enough before he inserted two of his fingers inside the Captain. Spock's eyelids closed in extacy as his fingertips felt Jim's hole relaxing, making space for Spock, demanding to be used. He pushed his fingers further in and flexed them carefully to prepare the panting Captain.

 ” _Sir? I cannot hear you, Sir. Is everything okay?”_

 'Spock?' Jim managed. The abandoned communicator was crackling on the far side of the bed.

 Spock couldn't answer because he had his mouth full of pink, throbbing cock. He made an inquiring sound while sucking the magnificent organ, which was now gleaming wet with saliva. A third finger slipped inside the Captain's butt and drew a pleased grunt from the bronze-skinned, naked Admiral-to-be. Kirk had to truly concentrate before he could speak.

 ”Fuck me,” he breathed huskily. ”Now.”

 The command was obeyed instantly. Slowly and teasingly Spock pulled his fingers out, which almost made the Captain take back his previous order. Instead Kirk dug his fingers into the skin on Spock's back and pulled the fully clothed Vulcan back on top of him. With a single tug he yanked the uniform shirt and the black t-shirt under it away while Spock wriggled out of his pants.

 Jim felt the first tentative bump of a Vulcan cock against his hole. Amongst the torrent of need it awoke in him was a wispy tendril of duty. Desperately Kirk grabbed on to the thought and picked up the communicator again. His lion's eyes were locked on Spock's, demanding and burning.

 ”Crewman, take her to a spare cabin to rest. Then escort her to the ready room in 20 minutes.”

 Spock closed his eyes and focused. His green-tinged member shrunk considerably in size, but stayed hard enough for Spock to thrust inside Jim without causing him too much discomfort.

 Jim gasped.

 ” _Ready room in 20 minutes. Acknowledged.”_

 The human rocked himself against the other man, half delirious from the pleasure. Slowly Spock let the blood pressure inside his cock increase and felt how Jim grew tight against the thickening organ. Jim felt it too: his eyes went wide with amazement, and a long growl of primal lust escaped his partly open lips. His body was dancing in the uncharted currents of pain and pleasure, the latter overcoming the first even when the cock inside him kept swelling to its real girth and length.

  _They'll talk. They'll talk about me,_ Jim managed to think while drowning on the bliss of Spock. He brought the communicator again closer to his lips.  _I cannot allow it. I cannot risk it._

 ”Once you're done … report to Mr. Sayeed in the Science lab. He'll have your next assignment. Kirk out.”

 Their next assignment would be unreported, unofficial and extremely painful but scientifically interesting. The insane Arabian genius Sayeed would see to that.

 As the matter of silencing the boarding party was taken care of Kirk flung the communicator as far as he could. It crashed into a bulkhead and fell to the floor in pieces, but at least it was finally quiet.

 The Captain lay still, gasping, his body and mind filled with of Spock as they fucked. A wet slurping sound and a meaty slap accompanied every thrust, but the sounds of sex were soon overcome by the panting and grunting of the two men. Every muscle in Jim's body was relaxed to allow for a deeper penetration, and his mind was an empty page, ready to accept every bit of pleasure Spock was offering him.

 ”Captain...” Spock began, but Kirk interrupted him.

 ”Jim. My name... is Jim.”

 ” _Jim_ ,” Spock whispered almost reverently. ”Jim. Jim.  _Vaksurik. Ashayam. T'nash'veh.” Beautiful. Beloved. Mine._

 The soft but foreign syllables left Spock's lips and floated directly into Jim's soul, which was already filled to the brim with lust and passion. Kirk could not take it anymore. His entire world was pulsing in rhythm with Spock's thrusts. In his universe there was no other sound than the sound of Spock's words and their lovemaking. His whole body grew taunt as the orgasm tensed his every muscle, arched his back and drew a deep, animalistic growl of pleasure from his lips. Spock put all his strength to one last thrust, powerful enough to immerse his entire cock deep inside the Captain, and  _roared_.

 For a long while afterwards Kirk laid still, until his brain finally regained control of his body and admired how easy everything was. Sex itself had always been a simple matter for Kirk. It was the minutes afterwards that had always given him trouble, but like everything else with Spock, even that was now natural and comfortable. His languid eyelids fluttered in desperate attempt to stay open.

 The Captain was only just beginning to regain his full composure when Spock was already fully dressed.

 ”Captain? Jim?”

 ”Hmm?” Jim's head turned towards the blurry shape of the Vulcan. Kirk's golden hair was a mess and his cheeks were flushed, but he remained shamelessly naked on the bed and allowed Spock to admire him. Spock's eyes devoured even Jim's softening cock and a dried spot of semen on his abdomen. Kirk grinned devilishly.

 ”You enjoyed that as much as I did, didn't you Spock?” Jim asked and stretched langruously. His skin shimmered under the lights as he turned to his side. Even the tiny corner of blanket, which had bravely clung on to his hips, fell down and left Kirk stark naked.

 Spock took a step away from the bedside and dropped his gaze. His easy posture transformed to a rigid military stance as something akin to shame turned his previously soft voice serious: ”I'll meet you at the ready room, Sir.”

 Jim smiled to himself as he listened to the receding footsteps of his first officer. All alone and secure in his cabin he was blissfully ignorant of wars, conflicts and unexpected reports. Only then did he allow himself to feel truly and sincerely happy.

 ***

 Spock hurried back to his own rooms only a few paces away from the Captain's quarters. As soon as the doors were safely locked he gave a familiar command to the computer.

 'Computer, connection alpha-alpha-one-five. Private channel, no logging, no tracing.'

 A series of beeps followed to indicate a complex chain of algorithms being run and connections being made through the vast emptiness of the space. Spock had ample time for a thorough wash in the 'fresher before the connection was complete and Sarek's face appreared on the screen.

 Spock could not suppress a shocked gasp. Sarek had always been a robust, strong man, but the creature on the screen was haggard and gaunt. His face was dirty with soot and dried blood, his lips were dry and his hair had been burnt from one side. A rugged bandage had been tied to his shoulder, but it was already turned dark brown from the blood that had leaked through.

 “What has happened?” Spock inquired, keeping his tone as controlled as he could. The recent … occurrences with Kirk had left his self-control less than perfect, and he had been a fool to make this call before fully regaining his composure.

 ” _Ah, you always were the rash one,”_  Sarek said mocklingly. ” _Your brother is dead, as you should know. He defended the union against an attack of the Surakian imbeciles. Still, the medicine you sent saved many, and the little flower turned out to be quite useful. Now we have other needs.”_

 After the first few words Spock had been listening only partially. His focused was on the mental link he shared with his family, even with his half-brother. It was a part of his mind he had locked even from himself. Only Sarek's words had reminded him of its existense, but now that he found the spiritual connection broken, he couldn't feel even the slightest bit of sadness or remorse. Sybok's death was meaningless to him.

 Spock accepted the fact and moved on to more important matters. He was not surprised that Sarek did so too.

 ” _We need weapons,”_ the older Vulcan said. _”Military class weapons: missiles, mines, gas grenades. Dispatch them as soon as possible. Is the Captain yet a threat?”_

 

”No.”  _Not yet,_ Spock thought, and continued almost hesitantly: ”I've made sure of it. He's... satisfied... that nothing's wrong.”

 ”Good. Send the items through the usual route.  _Na'tikopah_.”

 Sarek terminated the connection and left Spock alone with his thoughts.

  _The Captain is satisfied_ , Spock thought, unwilling to admit what his words truly meant. He could still see Jim, naked, unashamed, smiling and  _satisfied_. Uneasiness weaved a tight rope against Spock's chest as he thought of his own actions and his intention to pacify and satisfy the battle-weary Captain to make him easier to manage. It didn't matter matter how hard he tried or how deep into his palms he dug his fingernails: the dull despair remained. He had  _wanted_  Jim. He had wanted to touch him, to please him, to fill him entirely.

 He had not kissed Kirk to hide his tracks. He had not announced Kirk to be his just to hide his support for his Father's movement to separate an independent T'Khasi, free from the uneffective logical Surakians. He had not had sex with his Captain for any noble cause. Thinking the oppposite was illogical. Illogical behavior was not to be tolerated.

 Spock's fist flung out with considerable force and punched a sizeable dent into the bulkhead behind his desk. The Vulcan stood up, leaned his forehead against the cold wall, shut his eyes and stayed there for a long time.

 ***

 Jim and Spock were in the corridor outside the guest rooms in their official uniforms as the  _temera_ arrived escorted by five towering redshirts. Together they made their way to the briefing room, where refreshments had been set up to make the diplomat feel comfortable. Jim began to explain the situation to the woman.

 ”Your Honor, you're safe from the treacherous Klingons now,” he said, just as Tzu had advised him earlier. ”This is the Imperial space ship  _Enterprise_  and I am Captain Kirk. This is my first officer Mr. Spock, and these gentlemen -” Jim nodded towards the security team, ”- are here for your protection. We shall immediately take you back to Earth where you will be the most honored guest of the Empire.”

 The woman did not say a word. She was clearly a humanoid, but she had large, cat-like ears the color of fresh cream, and shining, oval-shaped black eyes with only a hint of yellow at the edges of the wide pupil. Her light-blue skin was covered in soft, short fur, and shone under the lights of the ready room. She looked at the Captain with her unblinking eyes. Her ears twitched at a sound no one else in the room could hear, but she kept her alert gaze at James Kirk.

 ”Spock?” Jim asked quietly from the corner of his mouth. ”You did say they understand standard English?”

 Spock nodded. The  _temera_ stared. Kirk rubbed his hands together, making the muscles on his naked arms writhe under his bronze skin while the medals and Imperial badges on his chest glimmered in the bright lights. The gold ribbons on his shoulders made a quiet rustle when he moved.

 ”Do you understand me?” he asked. Still the catlike woman remained quiet.

 

Biting down his growing frustration Jim offered the  _temera_ a plate filled with delicacies from all over the quadrant: sweet, banana-flavored Vulcan  _ameelah_ , fresh Terran peaches and pineapples, skillfilly cut selection of meats from Orion, hard candy flavored with Saurian brandy and several fancy bits Jim didn't even recognize. After careful consideration the diplomat picked up one candy with delicate, fur-covered fingers.

 ”Tttthank you.”

 Jim caught a glimpse of sharp teeth and a round, coarse tongue, which probably caused her lisp. It would've been amusing if her fangs weren't so long and pointy. Jim wondered if her velvety hands ( _paws_ ) were clawed.  _Don't ever get into close combat with a_  temera, he thought.  _Stay quiet, stay hidden, and kill it from a distance._

 ”What were you doing with the Klingons?” asked Jim the tactful diplomat. Behind him Spock glanced up, which was the Vulcan equivalent of rolling ones eyes in exasperation, and hastened to rescue the Captain.

 ”'We'd be most grateful to hear how and why did the Klingons capture Your Honor,” Spock said, with a voice professional but compassionate. Jim stared at him in astonisment while Spock continued: ”Or once you have refreshed yourself, maybe you could tell us more about your culture?”

 The  _temera_ had swallowed the candy and picked up another treat, and now nibbled on a peach before wiping away a trickle of juice from her sharp furry chin. She had dainty fingers, but each ended in a needle-sharp white talon an inch long. One talon had pierced the soft pulp of the peach.

 ”Your Captain theemth tenthe.”

 A sharp fang easily broke the stone of the peach. A bead of juice fell from her talon like a drop of blood.

 ”You didn't answer the question,” Jim blurted.

 ”A newborn pup of my thpecieth hath no thight, no hearing, and no emotionth. It developth thethe thentheth onthe itth ready and willing to uthe them. Even ath adultth we thpeak not when it ith not needed.”

  _I can bloody well hear why,_ Jim cursed.  _Your so-called speech is barely understandable!_ Kirk thought for a moment. He was not a diplomat, but he knew how to handle women...

 Kirk reached towards the plate on the table, picked up a fresh peach and ran his tongue on it to feel the soft fluff on the surface before taking a careful nibble, all the while staring at the ice-blue eyes of the diplomat.  _Look at me, my pretty bitch of a cat,_ he thought. _Wouldn't you want me to lick you like this, too? How would my tongue feel on your skin? Would you like me to bite you, I wonder, and would that make you scream like a lioness?_

 Spock coughed. He barely had parted his lips to say something when the Captain interrupted him.

 ”So how do you communicate with the ones not yet ready to hear or see?” Jim asked nonchalantly. Peach juice ran down his fingers, so he licked them clean, slowly.  _I'll bed you if that's what it takes, you mangy alley cat, but you'll tell me why the Klingons wanted you. You will make me an Admiral, and then you'll entertain my men for the rest of your life.They'll love a freak like you._

 Spock and the woman replied in unison:

 ”Telepathy.”

 Jim nearly choked on his peach. He began to cough so frantically Spock had to step up and take over.

 ”Is that why the Klingons wanted you, Your Honor?” Spock inquired. ”Telepathy would give them a major advantage in trade negotations as well as warfare. We know only little of them, but I don't think any purebred Klingon has ever shown telepathic abilities worth mentioning.”

 The way the  _temera_ 's huge ears bent backwards flat against her head was enough of an answer. Her huge eyes narrowed, a hiss escaped her white lips and her claws scratched the table.

 By then the Captain had stopped coughing, but his face was still red from anger. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.  _Your Honor this, Your Honor that_.  _Go on, Jimmy-boy, rescue a god damn telepathic cat for a god damn convoy of god damn Klingons._ He had done as Tzu had asked, he had been a good boy, but now he was done with this charade. He was not to be humiliated like this!

 ”Forget it, Spock. I don't have the time to be a petsitter for this kitten. Lock her up and plot a course towards Earth. Dismissed.”

 With a last, disdainful glance at the catwoman Jim waited until Spock had left and the security personnel had escorted the guest-turned-prisoner away. He sat still and started to count under his breath.

 By 100 he was still mad as hell and unable to do anything useful. It would not do, for he had something he really had to clarify. By 150 his pulse had slowed closer to normal and the recent embarrassment was a fading memory.  _Telepathy my arse_ , he thought bitterly. By 190 Kirk had erased the annoying drone of Tzu's voice and the soft purr of the diplomat from his ears, until only the soft memory of Spock's calm voice remained.

 The empty ready room was almost perfectly quiet. In the calmness Kirk breathed in, relaxed, breathed out: with every breath his pride and honor were pushed closer to surface, and everything else was being tucked away where it could not interfere with his focus. He kept breathing deeply until his mind was white – not white like pure snow or a swan's feather, but white like the hottest flames of an inferno. His mind was white with proud, controlled rage.

 When Kirk finally spoke his voice had an hitherto unheard edge in it.

 ”Computer. Locate and report the current activities of the user Spock, es pee oh cee kay,” Jim requested. He leaned his elbows against the table while the computer was running its scans.

 ” _User found. Location: storage bay 4b. Activity: accessing the computer.”_

 ”Specify.”

 ” _Insufficient data.”_

 Jim thought for a moment about the unexpected response. The computer could not have insufficient data. It could, however, be denied from releasing the information, which probably would result in a similar answer. With a voice as cutting as superheated plasma Jim specified: ”List every outgoing data connection, not including hardcoded connections to the Empire.”

 ” _Only one active tightbeam connection. Source: Storage bay 4b. Target: Masked. Channels: Masked. 1GB encryption. Last log entry -”_

 Jim did not hear the last log entry. He was already out of the room and grasping the handle of the turbolift like an executioner would grab his axe.

 The lift had scarcely stopped when Jim was already kicking the door open. Down here in the storage decks he was greeted by nothing but unpainted bulkheads of sturdy metal and tons and tons of cargo, rations, weaponry and supplies, all neatly packed, labeled and stacked. His steps echoed in the empty hallways.

 For a moment Jim was lost. He never came to the storage decks, and now when he did it felt as if he was on someone else's ship. An electronic screen embedded on the wall showed him a map of the deck. According to the map the cargo bay 4b was only a few yards away to his right. Within seconds Jim stood before a plain gray door with a yellow 4 B painted on it. He snarled.

 The door wasn't even locked. It opened immediately and let Jim in to a dark storage bay. The hiss of the door and the sound of Jim's hobnailed boots were both lost under the loud hum of the engines and the plasma sinks. Once Jim's eyes got used to the dimness he began to make out shapes further in the room. The large hall was empty apart from a single computer station mounted to the back wall, and the solitary shape of Mr. Spock standing in front of the bright screen. Spock didn't seem to have noticed the Captain who crept soundlessly closer.

 ”I fully understand the consequences,  _osu,”_  said Spock's voice.  _Osu, su, su,_ whispered the echo, bouncing Spock's voice from bulkhead to another. There was a response, but the Captain could not hear it. Spock spoke again.

 ”I am aware of the needs of the many, but this is not a logical way to fulfill those needs -”

 Spock's voice disappeared under someone else's. Jim sneaked closer but still could not make out the words of whoever Spock was communicating with. He could see a face on the screen now, but Spock's body covered too much for him to recognize the person. He did recognize Spock's posture, though: the Vulcan stood tall and rigid, his head held proudly high and his hands behind his back. Jim knew Spock's face would be a stoic mask of determination. It was a face Jim had seen often, and he knew a ”it is the only logical option” was going to be uttered any moment now.

 ' _The cost.... high... many dead... is the problem? The … Captain?_ ' said the unknown voice.

 Something about the foreigner's face was very familiar, almost hauntingly so. Jim inched closer, quiet as a shadow, trying to connect the voice he heard with a face. What he could see from behind Spock was the face of a male, a streak of grayish hair and broad shoulders covered in rough canvas, maybe burlap or jute. An elderly man then, a humanoid, not an Orion or an Andorian.  _Well, that narrowed the chances at least not at all. Not so elementary after all, my dear Kirk_ , Jim thought bitterly.

 

Spock spoke again, but now his voice was a perfect match to the cold, thick-headed attitude his posture portrayed.

 ”Negative,” Spock said. ”He is subdued. The optimal solution would be to negotiate with the Orions. They accept Vulcan currency, and have a wide selection of weaponry available. The Captain -”

 ” _You must find a way to -”_

 With those words something clicked in Jim's mind.  _You must find a way_... Brown mountains, hot air, scorching sand beneath his feet, pain... Fear, paralyzing fear of losing the one he cared about, his desperation to save Spock's  _katra_ after a horrible accident during a standard mission.  _You must find a way. If you honor them both, you must._

 For a second all the emotions, all the fear and all the desperation returned in one engulfing wave. It was all Jim could do not to scream.

 A tiny sound returned Jim back to the here and now. There had been the sound of explosion from the speakers attached to the screen. So, there  _was_  a war going on. The report he had got earlier was correct.  _Fascinating_ , Jim thought sarcastically, raised his head up high and stepped into the light of the screen.

 ”Hey there Sarek,” he said and gave the old Vulcan a mock salute.

 ” _Captain Kirk,”_  Sarek said with a strained voice. Now that Jim coud see him he realized Sarek had grown old during the last few years. He was gaunt, haggard and his face was dirty. Behind him was nothing but a stone wall without windows, carvings, adornments or anything else Jim associated with Vulcan culture.

 Jim smiled casually. ”That's me, although they say I'll be Admiral soon. How's your little war going? My supplies been good enough for you?”

 ” _That sounds like an accusation, Captain.”_

 Still smiling, Jim stepped right beside Spock and placed his hand on the Vulcan's broad shoulders. He could feel Spock's muscles trembling, which was the only hint of surprise or any other emotion Spock allowed himself to express. It felt strange to feel it, and to touch Spock before the great Sarek. Strange, but in a very enticing way.

 ”You've been using Spock to steal from me. You've been using your _own son_ , Sarek. That would be low even for a Human!”

 Even as the words left Jim's mouth he wondered what made him say that. Spock was much too intelligent to be used! Still, the Captain sensed how Spock seized to tremble, and how his breathing became calmer almost instantly. Sarek had noticed it too. Jim grinned as Sarek's face contorted in a grimace.

 ” _I am fighting a war, Captain, and I use what I can get to win. The Surakians will be beaten. Logic will not prevail, for it's emotions that give us strength. But this is not your fight, Kirk. Leave us.”_

 Holding his hand on Spock's shoulders Jim knew Sarek couldn't see as his fingers began to massage the tense muscles of the Vulcan, gently kneading away the kinks. Spock shuddered, and the strange tingling sensation washed over Jim again. It was obvious Spock enjoyed Jim's touch. His speechlessness only served to confirm it: his voice would have betrayed his emotions to Sarek. Spock wouldn't – couldn't – allow that. It would bring too much shame, and shame for a Vulcan was the worst kind of punishment.

 Jim blinked.

 Punishment. Shame. Emotions. Touching.

  _This will be fun!_

 Grinning like a tomcat Jim pinched hard at a specific nerve point between Spock's 3rd and 4th vertebra.  _It will incapacitate even the strongest Vulcan, but will not work on Humans,_ Spock had said. Kirk had never had the chance to try the move, but now that he did he was impressed: Spock fell down to his knees at Jim's feet without as much as a gasp.

 Just seeing him succumb so easily gave Jim a hard-on. He was almost sure it showed on whatever screen the old, battle-crazed Vulcan was looking at.

 Jim kicked the kneeling Spock down on the floor. It was enough to look bad from Sarek's point of view, but shouldn't cause more than a slight bruise. Kirk drew a knife from his sash and without even glancing at Sarek he cut the uniform Spock was wearing. Strips of black and blue cloth fell gently down, raising small clouds of dust as they hit the cold floor. The hairs on Spock's now naked back stood erect and his entire skin was on goosebumps. His bare skin emanated heat.

 ” _Captain, Kirk, what are you- '”_ Sarek began, but Kirk cut him short.

 ”Don't you think, Sarek...” Jim asked, fumbling with the zipper of his uniform pants and admiring lustfully at the sight of the helpless officer before him.

 ”… that in fact, considering what he's done...”

 ” _Kirk, I warn you!”_

 Jim's zipper opened and the Captain sighed from relief as the pressure on his groin eased. His one hand pushed down his own pants and boxers, while his other grabbed Spock's thigh to keep the Vulcan in his current position: face down, butt up, legs spread just enough to offer Jim a teasing peek at a dark rosette between the round buttocks.

 Sarek might have said something but Jim didn't hear it. He wasn't even listening. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart and the heaviness of his breathing as he spat on his palm, covered his angry pink organ in lubricating saliva and without any preparation forced himself inside Spock.

 Despite the light paralysis Spock screamed. It was a primal scream, free and wild and full of pain, but it only served to double Jim's animalistic lust.

 ”… he might have deserved this?” Jim concluded in between thrusts. He didn't know if Sarek was still online and watching, for his own eyes were locked on the limp head of Spock, lolling uncontrollably each time Jim thrust. His cock was no longer pink: it was pale green with blood mixed with saliva. A coppery aroma was beginning to fill the room.

 Spock was no longer screaming. He lay on the floor on his hands and knees, and his head was hanging between his arms. Kirk grabbed Spock's firm butt cheeks and pushed them violently apart to allow for even deeper penetration, but the lack of reaction from Spock dampened his gusto somewhat. Even the blood was starting to dry on his skin. Kirk scowled. Even his cock was failing him now, going limp despite Jim's best efforts to prolong the punishment of his disobedient officer. The Captain closed his eyes and tried to think of Spock as he had been some days ago, laying on top of Jim, caressing the Captain's hair, toying with his nipples, his brown eyes full of curiosity and devotion...

 Spock laid motionless on the floor. Jim was pumping hard, now. His grunts and panting echoed from one bulkhead to another like the room had been full of angry beasts, even though there was no one else than Jim and Spock. No one would come to Spock's aid this time.

 The raping did not last long. By the time Jim was finished Spock was already beginning to regain control of his body, but he was still too hurt and too shocked from the nerve pinch, the shame and the physical and mental abuse. His body shook violently as he sobbed soundlessly, still down on his hands and knees.

 Each quiet sob was like a dagger thrust deep into Jim's heart. The Captain felt a stab of uncertainty at his actions, and even a hint of something else, something he did not want to think about. He ignored the unpleasant guilt ( _guilt? I'm not the one who's guilty!)_ and hid his regret ( _regret? There are no regrets, never regrets_ ) by arrogantly wiping his organ, covered in dried blood and semen, to the tattered remains of Spock's uniform.

 His hands were green, too. Green with blood. Spock's blood. Jim rubbed his hands almost feverishly with a piece of the ripped uniform, but the stains would not come off. His scrubbed and scraped, but always there was one more drop between his fingers, under his fingernails or in a tiny crease in his palms.

 Slowly Spock got up. Green streams ran down his thighs and calves as he limped bow-leggedly to the nearest replicator to request a clean uniform. What he got was ragged and dirty, for the replicator had been unused for a long time, but at least he could use the clothes to cover himself up. Dressed in clean clothes he returned to the Captain.

 ”Jim,” he whispered hoarsely.

 The Captain dropped the worn out fabric and looked at his hands. They were red and raw. There was no Vulcan blood on his hands anymore. A small part of his mind wondered if there ever had been. Jim lifted his eyes from his hands and forced himself to look at Spock.

 ”I'm surprised you resorted to petty theft, Spock,” Jim croaked. He noticed now that Sarek had closed the connection at some point. In the silence around them even the rustle of Jim's uniform could be heard.

 Spock gave no response. His lack of remorse relighted the smoking ashes of Kirk's ire, and once again the Captain's cheeks flushed with anger. His hand hovered over his shiny golden sash and the phaser attached to it.

 Spock raised his left eyebrow slightly but didn't make a move to defend himself.

 ”I got a report of the uprising on your precious homeplanet. The photos of the dead showed tiny burns and cuts all over their bodies, just like the ones Lieutenant Uhura had a while ago, although that bloody man-eating plant doesn't grow anywhere near Vulcan. And then I thought about all the items that have gone missing during the last month. The plant, to start with. Some medical supplies. Armor. Items an underdog, like your father, would need during a war.”

 Slowly Jim pulled out his phaser and turned the dial to set it to kill. Stepping on the balls of his feet he circled around Spock and caressed the Vulcan's neck with the tip of the gun, his own finger steady on the trigger. Jim halted behind Spock and whispered to the pointy ear: “Why, Spock? Why did you steal from me and lie to me? Explain, so I know why I killed you.” His chafed lips brushed at the tender skin on Spock's ear lobes.

 Spock remained quiet. Jim could see a vein throb on the slender neck as that precious green blood was pumped through the Vulcan's body. How easily that could be changed! It was almost a sin to kill a creature as perfect as a Vulcan. Stronger than a man, smarter, faster, physically and mentally more developed than man, but still so easy to kill. A soft kiss from a blade, a touch from a phaser...

 “I thought you severed your ties to your father long ago. Why would you now be his errand boy?” Jim asked.

 “I am of his House. A duty of blood cannot be ignored.”

 As Spock spoke Jim could feel the slightest vibrations on Spock's neck. Still the vein throbbed, fast, like a hummingbird's beating wings. The phaser caressed the smooth skin under Spock's chin, his Adam's apple, his collar bones.

 ”Captain, I suggest you perform my execution with haste. You are required on the Bridge.”

 Jim stopped and prodded Spock with the muzzle of the phaser.

 ”You're sworn to me, Spock. That oath requires you to spill your precious green blood for me. You  _have_  bled for me. Why the hell did you betray me now?”

 Jim's voice changed from merely menacing to truly furious and from quiet threat to a frustrated shout. In a fit of rage he pushed Spock against the bulkhead and heard a nasty crack as the Vulcan's head smashed against the metal.

 ”Answer to me, you half-breed bastard!”

 The phaser flew away to the furthest corner as Jim grabbed the front of Spock's uniform with both hands and threw him again across the small storage area, sending neatly stacked boxes flying all over the room with an infermal noise.

 ”I am of his House,” Spock repeated and spat blood. In a second Jim was on him, grabbing the black hair closer to his own grimacing face, red with rage and effort. Spock wriggled weakly and tried to kick with his feet to buck Jim off, but the Captain had the upper hand.

 ”Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I'd let you keep doing this, stealing from me and from the Empire, and finally I'd take the blame as the auditors would've noticed?”

 Jim's fist connected with Spock's face with a sickening crunch.

 ”Every item has been compensated for,” Spock spat, green bubbles of saliva and blood forming on his lips and mingling with the blood flowing freely from his broken nose. Again he tried to kick and tear the Captain off of him. There was a ripping noise as Jim's uniform shirt was torn, but the the man would not budge.

 ”The Vulcans are blind, Captain. Blind to think emotions can be suppressed. Blind to think emotions do not make us stronger. You ask why...”

 Spock coughed, and little bubbles of blood appeared on his lips.

 ” … why I have bled for you. What do you think, Captain?”

 Spock's breathing was turning shallow and wheezy. ”Did I … Did I bleed for you because of sense of duty?”

 Jim stared at Spock. The Vulcan's eyes were full of pain but still calm. He had not attempted to wipe away the blood that was slowly painting a green mask on his gorgeous face.

 ”Why did you betray me?” Jim demanded again. His eyes trailed a trickle of blood running from the corner of Spock's mouth, across his cheek and down to the floor.

 ”You must understand, Jim,” Spock coughed. ”I... I am sorry. I had to decide... between you and him... family and the Empire...”

  _Between me and Sarek,_ Jim thought while images of Spock's face days ago flashed behind his eyes.  _He had to choose between_  d _uty and devotion. Discipline against affection, need against will... a decision no Vulcan should ever have to do._

 ”I am sorry, Jim. I was wrong. _”_

  _He's sincere about this, god damnit._

 Jim felt suddenly very tired. His shoulders slumped and his mind became a blurry mess he didn't want to even begin to untangle in a thousand years' time. Groggily he realized had been awake for a long time now, and couldn't remember when he had eaten. His entire body seemed to have run out of energy. A part of his brain thought it would be a very bad idea to show his weakness to Spock, who was beaten bloody and likely to try something stupid, but the major part of his mind disagreed. _He wouldn't,_ Jim thought.  _He's telling the truth. If I check the books, there'll be anonymous deposits of credits totalling the sum of things he's stolen to help his people and his father. And the reason he's almost died trying to save me, the same reason I've almost died trying to save his perfect ass... doesn't bear thinking about just now._

 Wearily the Captain stood up. He should leave Spock there, he knew, but something in those dark eyes tugged at the tiny, unused heartstrings he had left. He reached a hand and pulled Spock back on his feet.

 ”Well, glad we got that settled,” Jim tried to chuckle like a kid after a fight over who took who'se sand shovel. ”Would've been a shame to lose a good officer like you because of a plant.”

 ”It would've been a bad bargain,” Spock admitted and wiped his face with the sleeve of his uniform. The room smelled of copper and sweat. To Jim's nose it reminded another smell, or a scent actually, a scent he enjoyed rather much.

 ”Report to sickbay, Spock. Take a day off, settle the books and just... just clean up this mess. We've got a mission to complete,” Jim said while wiping the sweat from his face and limping towards the door. His left ankle was hurting bad, although he couldn't remember how it had been injured. He expected other pains would make themselves heard as the adrenaline in his system would break up.

 For once Spock did not object to going to see McCoy. In contrast, he nodded firmly and was about to step into the turbolift when he suddenly halted.

 ”Jim?”

 ”Yes?”

 ”To preserve the morale on this vessel and to avoid endangering our current mission, may I suggest you postpone my court martial until the diplomat has been handed over to the Empire?”

 Jim sighed. This would be a mistake, and he knew it, but Spock had been punished already. A court martial would be … a waste of time. Yes. Not just bloody stupid, but a waste of precious time.

 ”I don't know what you're talking about. There is and there will be no court martial. Just report to the sickbay.”

 Precise and literal, as always, Spock cocked his head to one side. ”I am referring to my actions, which were in violation of the Imperial Regulations 45 A 1, 36 C in section K and -”

 He met Jim's absolutely expressionless face. Spock's mouth snapped shut.

 They stepped to the turbolift together, and Jim grabbed the handle. He stopped the elevator on the correct deck so Spock could submit himself to Bones's administrations.

 ”Get back to the Bridge by tomorrow,” Kirk said to the retreating back of the Vulcan. ”You silly old hobgoblin.”


	4. The Entertainer by plaktow

The suffering, wrath and jealousy on Sameek Tzu's face was absolutely precious. Jim Kirk had to summon all his self-discipline to maintain a stern face as he marched down the corridor and past the man who was still just the Head of Acquisitions. The light from the crystal chandeliers in the ceiling shone from the new pips on Jim's shoulders, and the glint was reflected in Tzu's greedy eyes. At the edge of his hearing Jim thought he heard Tzu mutter something about a ”lucky but worthless bastard”. Jim allowed himself a quick, wicked smile.

It took a while for the small group to walk from the front of the massive hall to the other end, past hundreds of guests who had joined in to the promotion ceremony. Maintaining an easy stride Kirk followed the old Fleet Admiral Niemi through the large double doors, with Spock right behind him, down another long corridor and into a pompous banquet hall, where a quintetto was already playing a slow waltz. Above the full banquette table flew a banner. ”Congratulations Admiral Kirk”, it read in bold red letters. And against the strong opinions of the other hero of the day, another banner had been set up. ”Congratulations Mr. Spock”, it said. Jim grinned and turned to Spock.

'Looks like you'll have to play along and party tonight, Spock,' Jim predicted, grabbed a pint and filled it to the brim with deliciously hopped American pale ale. It was traditionally brewed, and none of that garbage you got from the replicators. This was the good stuff! He drained the pint and filled it again under Spock's reproachful gaze.

”I have duties to attend to, since we leave for Beta Quadrant in 48 hours. May I be dismissed?”

”Oh come on, Spock,” Jim tried and gave Spock's shoulder a friendly punch. ”Relax a little. I saw some of the Vulcan female cadets and officers at the ceremony, and they sure would measure up even to your standards, if you know what I mean.” Jim looked at the new badge on the chest of Spock's official uniform. It was made of black titanium, and had a stylised Imperial crest on it. Under the crest were the words 'n _ulli secundus_ ' _,_ second to none _._

Spock cocked his head. ”All members of the Imperial Fleet must fulfill very strict standards. There are no differences between species or races.”

Jim gave the Vulcan a level stare. ”Nope, not what I meant. Try again.”

Jim could not resist the urge to fiddle with the medal on Spock's chest. Just seeing it made him uncharacteristically happy; he was happy for Spock, happy and proud that the Vulcan had finally received the recognition he deserved, and happy that Spock served under him, as a friend and as the best damn First Officer there was.

Spock pursed his lips ever so slightly, but did not take the bait. Jim knew what the tall officer was waiting for.

”Dismissed,” Jim said with a sigh. ”And congratulations, Spock. You earned that medal, not just for turning the ambassador of the cat people to our cause and not just for your work on Vulcan. You've always been the best of the First Officers. Second to none, as it says.” Jim poked at the medal again.

Spock nodded almost imperceptibly. ”I'll make the preparations for our departure. And Jim – try the dessert. You should find the dessert especially pleasant.”

After Spock had gone Jim drained his pint and began the arduous task of mingling with the guests and other officers. It had been a long day with many mind-numbingly dull official events, speeches and vows, and his feet were aching already. Like a ball in a pinball game Jim bounced from one group of partygoers to another, exchancing clichés and smiling until his cheeks hurt as much as his feet. He had met tens of completely useless people whom ”you really, really must meet, Admiral Kirk”. One of them, Jim thought, hadn't even really been a person but a stinky pile of matted fur and bad breath.

Every group he bumped to congratulated him on forming an alliance between the Empire and the temera. Jim smiled at them and bid a hasty retreat, but never took the time to tell the whole story: how they had captured the Ambassador, how Spock had then negotiated with her and convinced her to assist the freedom fighters on Vulcan, and how Spock then talked her into joining the Imperial Fleet. Spock had done it.

”You're so lucky to have a First like that, Admiral Kirk,” the participants said, every time. And every time Kirk replied in earnest: ”Yes, I am.”  _I am not lucky to have ”a First like that”,_  he thought to himself.  _I am lucky to have Spock._

After an hour or so Kirk felt drained. He had always been ready to party, but tonight the lights were too bright, the ale was too bitter and the music too loud. Even the women in their revealing dresses seemed to have piercingly shrill voices and a cloud of pungent perfume that burned Jim's nostrils. At least the food at the banquet was okay, but Kirk couldn't summon up much of an appetite. Annoyed and tired, he tried to search for the desserts Spock had mentioned, but found nothing. It irritated him. Why would Spock care about any kids of desserts, anyway?

”Hey!” Jim snapped his fingers and interrupted a young waitress, who glided across the floor carrying a tray full of empty glasses. ”Where's the dessert table?”

”There, like, isn't one,” she drawled. ”It's like some kind of new philosophy or whatever. Every dish is like a dessert or something.” She eyed at Jim like a dumb sheep and then remembered herself. ”Sir,” she added indifferently before sailing away, her high heels klicking on the stone floor.

Now Jim was more puzzled than annoyed.  _No desserts? But Spock had specifically said the desserts were good! He said I'd enjoy them_...

Imaginary gears started to rotate inside Jim's head.

_He said I'd enjoy the dessert. There is no dessert. But he knows there is. Therefore he has prep--_

Jim's eyes went suddenly wide with surprise. The room spun around a few times before settling back to being a dependable, solid and fairly immovable place in the space-time continuum.

_There is no bloody way he would have... prepared... a dessert... for... me..._

A few of the guests glanced at the newly appointed Admiral as he nearly ran away from the banquet, hurried outside and jogged towards the guest house in the light, cool rain. His uniform was made of waterproof fabric, but the light droplets danced on his skin and hair as he ran through the empty, dark yard. By the time Jim arrived to the magnificient house and to the door to his own stateroom his hair was already curling from the moisture.

_There is NO bloody way he would have done it!_

Jim waved his access card in front of the lock, heard the door snap open and gingerly stepped inside.

The stateroom was not like Jim remembered. Firstly, when he had left it some hours ago there had been no candles. Now there were tens of them all over the place. Secondly, there had not been a light spicy aroma wafting through the air. The soft music echoing from the walls was also new. Jim walked around the rooms slowly, his shoulders hunched, turning his head this way and that like a lion inspecting foreign territory.

There were candles on the tables. There were candles on the floor, where their light danced on hundreds of rose petals scattered all over the floor.  _Rose petals?_ Jim thought.  _What the … ?_ The music grew louder as he came nearer to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, but only after a long breath Jim found the courage to push the door fully open.

The sight stunned him.

”There was no dessert,” he tried to say, but his throat was so dry it came out as ' _thr 's no dsrt_ '. Spock, who sat cross-legged on Jim's king-size bed and picked his lyre, turned his dark eyes to the Admiral.

”I did not indicate where it would be served,” he said softly.

This time Jim's answer was a squeak. It seemed to amuse Spock, who stretched his neck and shrugged his shoulders. The movement was just enough to make his black, gold-embroidered meditation tunic fall down to his elbows, revealing broad shoulders, muscular arms and a strong chest with soft, silky black fur. The rest, the part which Jim was now very interested in, was conveniently covered by the lyre.

”Spock...”

The Vulcan continued to play his lyre. His jet black hair shone under the lights, and his long eyelashes covered his dark eyes as he kept his eyes on the instrument. His long fingers picked at the strings expertly, drawing out music like Jim had never heard before. The music seemed to bypass Jim's ears and sink in through every pore on his skin, warming him and wrapping him in a comfortable, warm blanket.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, a few inches from Spock. Still the Vulcan kept playing.

”Spock, listen. You probably think you deserved it, you know, the thing down in the storage room, but... shit, I fucked up. I was so pissed! You, of all the people, you had betrayed me! You had used me, you stole from me...”

A distant part of Jim's brain was screaming. Jim listened to it and for once agreed with his conscience. This was not what he wanted to say.

 _Jim, you're tired,_ Jim's ego tried to say.  _You're tired and weak. Don't say anything stupid. You're ruthless, that's why you're still alive. You don't trust. You kill. Don't you dare go soft on me now, killer!_

Jim looked at Spock. The Vulcan just sat there and played his lyre.

 _That's... that's like trusting a tiger, or a_ seh'lat _! Get a grip on yourself! Why is he here anyway? How did he get in? He's threatening you, Jim, showing how easily he can get to your quarters and kill you and-_

”Spock... I need you. I … dammit, but I think I …” Jim coughed to hide his uncertainty and tried again. ”You should've been made Admiral. Not me, yet here we are. You got a damn piece of metal for doing everything, and I got a promotion, a banquet and a ceremony for doing nothing.”

Jim was quiet for a moment, as if he was gathering courage to dive deeper into the thoughts he was now allowing for himself. He coughed lightly and plunged on.

”Had they promoted you, you would have become a Captain with your own ship to command. I could give you that ship, now. I could, I should, but I won't. I want to keep you here. I want you, Spock.”

Jim was speaking too fast now, almost feverishly.  _You're sick, man! Shut the hell up! He's playing some Vulcan mind tricks on you!_

Spock plucked at the strings, and as the last notes faded he carefully placed the lyre down on the floor. His dark eyes bored into Jim's heart and soul as the Vulcan spoke.

”Your leadership alone has kept the scheming crew together. Your tactics allowed us to take the diplomat without losing the said crew. Your decisions kept the diplomat safe during the negotiations, and watching you command she grew certain of our might. You allowed the Imperial Fleet to learn more about the Klingons. Afterwards it was your decision that took us to Vulcan, even when there was a civil war going on, and won us a great ally. My actions could have undermined all this. What happened in that storage room was … justified.”

Now that the lyre was gone Jim saw how the Vulcan's chest moved as he breathed, and how his strong muscles bulged under the pale skin. His eyes followed the trail of soft fur, which began from the chest, continued down on the abs, circled around a perfectly round navel and flowed over the lower abdomen before turning thicker, curlier...

Kirk's brain tried to say he was sorry. His lips settled for a squaked ” 'ree.”

Amusement flickered in Spock's eyes. He swung his legs down on the floor, pushing himself up from the bed and stared deep into the Admiral's wide eyes while he let his robes fall to the ground. Under the robe Spock was entirely naked. Without any shame Jim's eyes darted to between the Vulcan's legs, and to the green-tipped jade shaft that protruded so boldly amidst the black curls. He had never really seen Spock like this, standing proudly and fully naked. The sight was intoxicating.

'You're  _beautiful_ ', Jim whispered, admiring every inch of that muscular, lithe body so invitingly offered to him. He tried not to blink so he wouldn't miss a fraction of a second of this moment, and only after a moment realized he had been holding his breath too. The uniform pants Jim had been wearing all day were suddenly several sizes too small from the groin. To the Captain's delight Spock reached towards the growing bulge under Jim's navel and squeezed it demandingly.

James T. Kirk had killed men, women and children. James T. Kirk had survived assassinations, explosions, poisonings and wars, but James T. Kirk had never, ever he felt so helpless as he did now. Even worse was how he let Spock notice his hesitance and frailty.

'No one will ever know,' Spock whispered and pulled Jim on to the bed with him. Kirk understood immediately.  _No one will know of your weakness. You're safe with me. You're_ safe _._

And just like that James T. Kirk, Admiral, proud servant of the Empire, was just a man again. He made no attempt to stop Spock when the Vulcan began to undress him, and willingly allowed the other man to kiss his lips, neck, shoulders, pectorals, abs and thighs. As Spock kneeled between Jim's legs and took the quavering pink cock into his mouth the cabin echoed with Jim's cries of pleasure. The human's fingers sought out Spock's hair and gently caressed the elegant head bobbing up and down as the Vulcan pleased his Admiral.

”I want to come to your mouth, Spock. Swallow me,” Jim panted. ”Afterwards -ooh!- afterwards I want to taste myself from your lips. Oh, yes, just like that...”

Spock obeyed. He sucked, licked and caressed, and sooner than Jim hoped the climax came and dragged him under the waves of primal lust. As instructed, Spock swallowed the sweet white liquid, but left a drop on his lip. He crawled on top of Jim and let the Admiral kiss away the remainder of his own seed.

”Spock... bond me. Now.”

Spock withdrew as if struck. His face remained stoic, but fear and hesitance danced in his eyes. His lips, chafed with kisses, parted slightly as he prepared to deny Kirk's wish. The human did not know what he asked for. He did not understand!

Jim's begging eyes met Spock's. ”Please,” the man whispered and with a single word disarmed Spock.

The Vulcan nodded, rubbed his hands together and carefully placed his fingertips on the meld points on Jim's face and chin. He closed his eyes, and Jim watched those blue-tinted eyelids for a long while before warmth began to seep into his skin from Spock's hands. It felt like steel and like water, like ice and fire, and it spread from his face to his neck, chest and all over his languid body. Jim's heart began to beat faster and faster, until the warmth reached it, too, and calmed his pulse down to a more relaxed level. Beautiful but strange symbols began to form behind his eyes, and he had to close his eyes to see them better. They looked like notes or hieroglyphs, but Jim knew them for the Vulcan writing they were. Spock's voice sounded inside his head: ' _Touching, yet not touching; apart, yet never apart._

Without realizing it Jim's mouth formed the same words: ”Touching, yet not touching.... apart, yet never apart....”

The warmth turned into burning heat and engulfed Jim in a private inferno. He screamed, but made no attempt to escape Spock's grip. As Spock spoke the rest of the ritual the inferno died down, leaving only a lingering tingling on Jim's spine.

” _It is done. How do you feel?”_

”I'm... that was interesting. I'm fine.”

” _It will take a moment for your brain to accommodate, because you were not prepared for the joining. You may not feel anything for a moment-”_

Jim realized something was amiss: Spock's lips were not moving. Kirk's eyes grew wide in amazement. ”You're talking to my mind!” he breathed.

”You adapt quickly,” Spock said out loud. ”Jim, I would not like to say this, but-”

”But you must go. You're needed elsewhere. I know, I felt it,” Jim finished the sentence for Spock and shook his head. He felt dizzy and light-headed. ”I'll... I'll return to the Bridge tomorrow. I need ... to … sleep....”

Jim tried to look at Spock, but his eyelids grew suddenly heavy as lead, and his tongue wouldn't form the words his brain told it to say. A seed of panic rose inside him.

”You're alright,” Spock assured him. 'You need to rest, to let your brain reboot itself. Sleep, my Admiral. Rest now.”

Jim's answer was lost as Spock leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was like an ocean of water over the tiny flame of fear, and for the first time in his life James T. Kirk felt truly safe. His mind was at rest, his body tired but relaxed, his thoughts slugghish but peaceful. He had fought and he had killed, but only after letting go did he finally feel safe.

He slept, and while he slept, he dreamed of Spock.


End file.
